Five-Star Backpacking in South Africa
Twenty drunken snorers sharing a dorm, hour-long shower line ups and questionable mattresses: not the ingredients of a perfect break, but this is what my mum was fearing as I dragged her on a backpacking tour around South Africa.
When we arrived at our first stop, second thoughts had taken over and she was ready to book in to a guesthouse - until she looked around and realised that these days budget travel doesn’t mean having to sleep in your clothes for fear of what you might catch from the sheets.
It was mid-March when we set off from my parents’ Cape Town home for a girlie trip along the Garden Route. “We can stay in hotels,” my mum, Joy, told me as we packed up the car. “I don’t mind paying for both of us.” But it wasn’t just the money. South Africa’s backpacker joints actually add to your travel experience, offering otherwise off-limits experiences and providing funky bars where you can meet fellow travellers. Of course, there are rogue elements – I’ve slept in some terrible hostels here; places where the owners think that budget travellers have no desire to be clean or safe. But on this trip I’d hand-picked the hostels and knew we wouldn’t be encountering prison-style bunks or beds so close together you end up snuggling with your neighbour.
As we set off for Oudtshoorn, my mum was nervous and no doubt wishing she had a daughter with a taste for luxury. For my part I was glad to have her along. Many times when I was on the road alone I’d wished she was there, knowing she’d love whatever I was doing. As well as sharing a face (so we’re frequently told, though we never quite see the resemblance) our interests are the same – good food, red wine, pretty buildings and the occasional museum. Now all I needed to do was bring her over to the dark side of budget travel.
Oudtshoorn is the ostrich capital of South Africa, where you can photograph, eat and even ride the world’s largest bird.
Our bed for the night was at Backpacker’s Paradise, a divine hostel run by the friendliest and most wonderfully sarcastic backpacker boss in the country, Petra.
I must say I enjoyed my mum’s look of surprise as we went through a seamless check-in and were handed maps, advice and discount coupons for local attractions. The amazement only mounted when we found our room – a private double with en-suite bathroom, coffee making facilities, thick white duvets and even a hairdryer (and if I’m honest, I was surprised by these extras myself).
The only obvious thing missing was a TV, but there are few hostels that provide in-room entertainment – and not through tight-fistedness. The idea of a backpacker hostel is to provide a meeting point for like-minded travellers, so while rooms lack TVs you can guarantee a lively bar, nightly activities and a well-stocked shelf of games and books for more reserved guests. Of course, the superlative on-site amenities do bring with them an obvious temptation – to cling to base camp and fail to explore the surroundings. Not wanting to join the legions of budget travellers who never leave their hostel, we sampled a quick cocktail in the rough-and-ready bar, then headed out to find food. And since we had absolutely no intention of riding an ostrich, we thought we should at least sample one (well, a piece of one) for dinner.
Another night in Paradise would have been ideal, but time was pressing so we moved on, first taking time to check out Oudtshoorn’s top sights. My fear of all things furry and feathered meant that ostrich riding was strictly a spectator sport (and a hilarious one at that), though the farm tour was definitely worth an hour (and R20) or our time.
Before hitting the road we ventured towards the Rust en Vrede Waterfall along a muddy track getting ever-more slippery in the torrential autumn rains. I was glad to have my mum on hand to man the wheel since it gave me chance to devote all of my attention to a more important task – digging my nails deeper into my palms as I fretted about our car sliding off the steep-sided road. It later occurred that considering her total lack of fear and my numerous phobias, my mum makes a much better independent traveller than I ever will.
Although the drive ahead was a lengthy one, I was glad to be back on paved roads as we headed for Graaff-Reinet. It’s a long and lonely journey to reach this forgotten town in the Karoo (semi-desert) but my penchant for weird spots that other people ignore dictated that we should make the detour.
On finding that the town had more to offer than a weird name and a reputation for mediocrity, we opted for two nights and hunted down the only backpacker option around – rooms in a suburban family home. After a night in Paradise the shared bathroom, dusty tabletops and chintzy decor could have felt like a step down, but the sheer friendliness of owner Nita made any rough edges easy to ignore. And with complimentary coffee and homemade rusks on offer each morning, who could complain about a few doilies? Between traditional lamb dinners we admired the town’s imposing church and checked out the region’s top attraction – sunset from the striking and wonderfully named Valley of Desolation. Here my mum made an important travel discovery: girlie sandals and South African parks do not mix well.
Bidding farewell to the barren interior we headed south along what my mum accurately dubbed ‘the most boring road in the world’. Our destination: Port Elizabeth, a seaside city and South Africa’s fifth largest. Worried about our lack of a reservation, my mum urged me to call a hotel, but (and I had everything crossed at this) I assured her we’d find something on arrival.
Luckily, we scored a room not at one of PE’s party hostels in the less-than-salubrious city centre, but at Lungile Lodge, overlooking the beach. Checking our guidebook we called a recommended seafood restaurant and were thrilled to score a table on the sea-facing terrace. Of course, we later realised we were neither lucky nor clever as the waiters pulled down tarpaulins to protect us from the nightly storms not uncommon at this time of year. It was a pleasure to escape the rain and retreat to our divinely decorated log cabin room reminiscent of an upmarket safari lodge.
Having both visited numerous times, we opted not to follow the crowds to the Garden Route’s adventure sports Mecca, Knysna, stopping instead at Plettenberg Bay. Plett, as it’s known by locals, is a fashionable beach resort where everything is upmarket – even the backpacker hostels. Both of the main budget options offer little luxuries, but we opted out of Albergo, the party place, heading instead for Nothando. Even after the perfect pillows we’d laid our heads on to date, we were both taken aback with Nothando’s finesse. We opted for an en-suite double, but here even the dorm beds come with pressed linen and a fluffy towel. I was, as I always am when towels come with the room, thrilled not to have to use my least favourite backpacker possession – the travel towel. Over time, this minute piece of cloth has ceased absorbing water in favour of absorbing foul smells and I’m always overjoyed when I can leave it in the bottom of my rucksack.
Our short taste of budget travel at the foot of Africa ended in Nothando’s bar, possibly the cosiest backpacker bar in the country. As we enjoyed local wine in front of the fire my mum did something she very rarely does “I suppose I was wrong about budget travel,” she admitted.
I was thrilled, not because, for once, I was right but because I’d convinced one person to see that not all budget travellers are hippie scum and not all hostels are roach-infested institutions full of gap year students looking for sex.
Although I don’t see her strapping on a rucksack and hitting the road too soon, I’m sure she’d consider a hostel on her next trip. Now on to the real challenge – convincing my dad that a room without a TV could maybe be an option on his next vacation...
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Lucy Corne is a freelance writer, guidebook author, EFL teacher and perpetual wanderer. She has travelled extensively but never seems to get the hang of it and has fallen off horses, got food poisoning and left possessions on buses across five continents. She currently lives in Ottawa.
Lucy Corne
Reader Comments (3)
Loved this article and I remember Petra from when I stayed at BP Paradise!! This article makes me want to go back to S. Africa... damned UK snow....
Oudtshoorn - South African centre of ostrich breeding
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