Here were 25 of us on the Saga express, running on low batteries and recycled airplane air after a ten-hour flight. With our local driver James at the wheel, we made the 14-mile transfer from O.R. Tambo Airport into Sandton.
Our tour leader, Michael—still looking every inch the seasoned explorer in his leather bush hat, embroidered Saga shirt, and wristful of safari beads—announced our arrival at the Protea Hotel Balalaika. Outside, we were surrounded by the glitzy, glass-and-steel hyper-modern skyscrapers of the "Wall Street of Africa." But step inside the gates, and the vista pulls a complete shape-shift. Built like a country-style oasis, the grounds are dominated by manicured English gardens, giant shaded trees, and two sparkling swimming pools—did anyone see them, I wonder? Talking with Francis, we half-expected Lenny Henry to step out from behind a palm tree to greet us at this African Travel Lodge.
The Great Balalaika Paper Shuffle
Any lingering hope of a smooth, organised check-in vanished the second we walked in. The hotel staff, evidently caught entirely unawares by our arrival, had simply dumped a massive, chaotic mountain of arrival forms and key envelopes across their reception desk. Overwhelmed, I thought one of them was going to have an asthma attack!
What followed was an absolute free-for-all. Imagine 25 jet-lagged British tourists, bleary-eyed and desperate for a shower, descending on a table like frantic bargain hunters on Black Friday. We were all elbow-deep in paperwork, shuffling through random registration sheets and reading out names like a frantic game of bingo:
"Is anyone named 'Achilles'? I've got your key envelope!"
"Who’s holding my arrival form?!"
"Janet - where's John gone"
Poor Michael stood by looking on, completely powerless as we rummaged through the paper mountain trying to claim our key cards. It was absolute comedy chaos.
Twin Beds & Namibian Beers
We finally unlocked our room, only to discover two single beds neatly tucked side-by-side—so much for a romantic reunion after a long flight! We swapped our travel clothes for proper local gear, headed down to the garden bar, and asked the bartender for two cold Windhoek Draughts. A quick search revealed this crisp Bavarian-style lager travels nearly 1,000 miles across the Kalahari from Namibia just to reach our glasses.
The Stock Market Steak & The Welsh Insult
Sensing the sun going down outside, we skipped exploring the dark city streets—mainly because we had read about a serial killer being hunted in the Johannesburg area—and opted for the safest route possible: using our room key card to walk directly through the internal side door into The Bull Run, the famous steakhouse right on the hotel grounds.
Settling into our booth with our tour mates Eileen, Sue, and Rita, we were handed menus so lavishly designed they looked less like a list of food and more like high-stakes investment portfolios. Given we were dining directly across from the Johannesburg Stock Exchange, everything was laid out like stock market trades. If Alexis Polizzi had walked in, she would have had an absolute fit at the sheer volume of meat waiting in the cold room—everything from 500g Beef Ribs to Springbok, Ostrich, and Wagyu.
I flipped through the menu pages, spotted a full-page photo spread of a prime T-Bone steak surrounded by a mountain of golden chips, and immediately pointed at it. Rita took one look at the picture on my menu, suffered an instant case of severe food envy, and announced she was having the exact same thing with peppercorn sauce!
As we were marvelling at the menu, Welsh Mike suddenly popped up like a jack-in-the-box from the booth next to us. Holding up a glass, he chimed in:
"You need to get a bottle of this - Fat Bastard. Trust me, it’s good!"
For a split second, I nearly took offense—wondering if my post-flight attire was revealing a bit too much waistline, or if this was just a particularly aggressive Welsh greeting. It turns out Mike was simply recommending FAT bastard Sauvignon Blanc, a famous local white wine. Crisp and delightfully named, it was the perfect toast to Night 1.
Luggage Line-Up II & The Moving WhatsApp Bouncer
The next morning's instructions were simple: cases outside the room, a quick breakfast, and The Great Suitcase Line-Up: Part II outside the coach. We all stood in the morning air pointing at our wheelie bags for the second time in 24 hours before James made sure they were loaded them into the hold.
Once we were settled into our seats and trundling down the road, Michael finally managed to get the group WhatsApp chat up and running from the front of the coach. My screen lit up with absolute digital chaos. Michael was battling the admin settings live on the highway—adding Hazel, adding Francis, accidentally booting Francis, adding Francis back, removing Roy Berry, re-adding Roy Berry, and eventually ejecting poor John Pascoe altogether. It was like watching a confused bouncer manage a nightclub door at 60 mph.
Culture, Monuments & Copycat Pies
Before pointing the coach toward safari country, James and Michael took us on a history orientation tour through Pretoria. We stopped at the grand Union Buildings to stand at the feet of the colossal 9-meter bronze statue of Nelson Mandela, whose arms are outstretched as if pulling the whole country into a group hug. Down the terraced lawn stood the striking Delville Wood War Memorial, paying tribute to fallen World War soldiers.
Next, we wound up to the Voortrekker Monument—a giant granite fortress surrounded by a carved wall of pioneer ox-wagons.
While admiring the grand displays inside—including a stunning five-panel artwork depicting Africa's Big Five—I decided it was time to secure two crucial items: a classic souvenir fridge magnet and a hot chicken and mushroom pie. Right on cue, Rita stepped up to the counter and ordered the exact same pie. The food envy was officially a pattern! If I had ordered a bowl of cold gravel, Rita would have asked for a fork. We sat in the warm sunshine, pie in hand, washed it down with a cold beer, and Rita with a coke and climbed back on board.
Toilet Marathons & Wildlife Pit Stops
Back on the highway, the washroom door at the back of the coach was banging rhythmically behind our seats. It got a thorough workout, largely thanks to Eileen, who set an unchallengeable group record for the highest number of washroom visits of any passenger on the tour!
Between Eileen’s frequent shuttle runs and our aching buttocks staging a full-scale seating protest, James promised a surprise at our final highway pit stop: Alzu Petroport.
Forget dreary UK motorway services like Leigh Delamere or Newport Pagnell. At Alzu, you don't queue for a lukewarm coffee while watching boy racers in a Ford Capri. You stand by floor-to-ceiling glass windows—or at the men's urinals—locking eyes with actual wild rhinos, zebras, and ostrich grazing on the plain outside. "Well, what do you expect out of a South African toilet window, herds of wildebeests majestically... stop it, Vince!"
The Pilgrim’s Rest Detour (The Italian Job: Bushveld Edition)
Just as we thought we were home-and-dry for Mdluli Lodge, Michael, still looking resplendent in his leather bush hat at the front of the coach, popped up with an idea. He announced we were taking an impromptu detour to Pilgrim's Rest—a historic 1870s gold-mining town preserved as a national monument—so we could stretch our legs and soak in a bit of gold rush history.
Michael declared to the coach: "Silence implies consent!"
Naturally, nobody uttered a single word. Which meant, by default, 25 tired travellers had quietly agreed to push back our long-awaited lodge arrival by another hour.
Michael then gave us a bit of history over the coach intercom, leather bush hat on, mic crackling to life:
*Crackle-hiss*
"Right then, everyone, if I could just have your attention for a moment..."
Michael’s voice boomed softly through the coach speakers as James guided us into the valley.
Now, a quick bit of history for your notebooks before we stretch our legs and grab some lunch; (on your own dollar). Back in 1873, a solitary Scottish prospector named Alec 'Wheelbarrow' Patterson struck gold right in this creek. Shortly after, another prospector, William Trafford, rolled up, took one look at this peaceful valley, and declared that his long, exhausting trek was finally over—it was, as he put it, the 'home of a pilgrim at rest.' He registered the claim, and the name stuck.
What Michael didn't anticipate was that our afternoon historical jaunt would briefly turn into a scene straight out of a low-budget disaster movie.
As James navigated the heavy coach down a narrow, winding road leading into the valley, we suddenly slammed to a dead stop. The Self Preservation Society theme tune from The Italian Job immediately started looping in my head. "WTF is happening now?" I heard someone say.
There, blocking our path entirely, was a flatbed lorry that had suffered a catastrophic structural meltdown. Its massive load of timber logs had completely sheared off its mountings and shed itself directly across the road. On a nearby grassy hillside sat a local woman, obviously part of the trucking crew, laying down and peacefully smoking something decidedly medicinal, completely unbothered by the chaos. Meanwhile, the lorry driver—wearing nothing more protective than a pair of worn-out flip-flops—was pacing around the debris, trying to figure out how on earth he was going to clear the way so our coach could reach town for a lunch (to be bought on our own dollar)!
Seeing the gridlock, Welsh Mike immediately sprang into action, stepping off the coach and picking up one of the massive wooden logs like a man possessed. John stepped out next, hands on hips, squinting at the wreck to offer some expert British roadside analysis. Spotting the liability nightmare unfolding in real time, I leaned over to Michael and gently reminded him about our group holiday insurance policies and the strict definition of "excursion activities."
We all sat and waited as the roadside rescue operation played out in slow motion. After a fair bit of head-scratching and log-shuffling, the spilled load remained scattered across the tarmac, but the lorry itself was somehow re-seated, restarted, and limped over to the shoulder just enough to squeeze us through.
As James carefully picked our way past the carnage and into Pilgrim's Rest, I looked back at the mountain pass behind us and made a mental note: we definitely won't be taking that route on the way back.
After the whole episode with the wood, I didn't care where we ate—I was just grateful to be alive! We found a spot in the old gold-mining town and grabbed some lunch on our own dollar, sitting in the mountain air and letting our nervous systems settle before climbing back onto the coach.
Arrival at Mdluli Safari Lodge
After six or so hours, 260 miles, two luggage line-ups, several beer stops, a rhino-gazing pit stop, and a timber-truck blockade, the coach finally pulled into Mdluli Safari Lodge.
As we stepped off the bus into the wild African bush, it was almost dusk and one of our weary travellers looked up at the sky, I stretched my aching back, and sighed:
"Well, I survived the 10-hour flight, the check-in paper free-for-all, a massive picture-menu steak, Eileen practically living in the coach toilet, and a runaway log truck. If a lion eats me tonight, at least he'll get a well-fed, pre-seasoned British tourist!"
Leaving the creaky coach seats behind, we were instantly greeted by the lodge's incredible open-air setup. Right past reception, in the shaded centre of the main lekgotla (the traditional assembly meeting space), stands a majestic Marula tree and a magnificent life-size bronze statue of the late Chief MZ Mdluli. With his arm outstretched in a warm, timeless welcome, he officially marked the end of our road trip and the beginning of our safari adventure.
This was it—it was what everyone really wanted. And it turned out that this wasn't just a stunning place to stay; it was a remarkable story of vision, community, and conservation: a sustainable & affordable luxury safari experience.
The Story Behind the Lodge
Mdluli Safari Lodge is the story of one man’s vision for the land, and for the Mdluli people. Today this land is significant for many reasons. We were invited to be part of the safari story–a tale of the wonder and beauty of the Kruger National Park, the authentic charm of Siswati tradition, and a deep-rooted commitment to conservation.
The lodge is a sustainable tourism initiative through its proud partnership with the local Mdluli Community. After a long journey of land restitution, the 45,000-strong Mdluli Community have freehold title of 850 hectares of land inside the borders of the iconic Kruger National Park. The Community, who live in villages adjacent to the Park, receive direct financial and indirect social and economic benefits from the lodge’s operations.
Alongside skills-based job creation, whereby nearly 90% of the lodge’s team comes from the Community, the lodge creates sustainable small business opportunities as well as increased land value. Mdluli Safari Lodge is a blueprint for best-practice community development projects in South Africa.
The Lodge Layout & Vibe
The reception and main area of the lodge are designed around a central lekgotla. The layout of the main building surrounds the majestic Marula tree, which canopies over this central meeting place and gently shades the bronzed statue of the late Chief MZ Mdluli, whose outstretched arm welcomes guests into this special place.
Each area of the lodge is intentionally positioned to maximize views into the Park, creating a feeling of always being connected to the beauty and serenity of the natural surroundings. The main area offers guests a bar, restaurant, deck, and infinity swimming pool, each looking out across the Park and the adjacent riverbed.
And with that, our group of 25 traded the bus aisle for safari tents, cold drinks, and a front-row seat to the Kruger wilderness. Cheers to surviving the road trip—now, bring on the Big Five, and the FAT bastard!
Poem
25 Pilgrims on the Road to Mdluli
Goodness me, is it day number three?
Who knows about hotels? – that’s Francis not me!
As Marriot member, I would hear him sup,
If a bar threatened to close, and the staff cashed up!
But this would come later, there Baliakia’s to share
In the Bull Run restaurant, with a lush menu fare
Up in the morning no breakfast in bed for sure
Cases all loaded, for another exciting tour
Statues and buildings – oh "The Great Trek"
On each of the corners one stood on the deck:
Retief and Pretorius carved tall and grand,
With Potgieter watching this vast, sunlit land,
And the Unknown Trekker to finish the set,
A monument marvel we wouldn't forget!
Then off down the highway we trundled along,
While Eileen kept the back-bathroom door banging strong,
At Alzu we gazed at the rhinos and beasts,
Through floor-to-ceiling glass as we paused for our feasts.
Then Michael chimed in on the mic with a grin,
“To Pilgrim's Rest next, let the detour begin!"
Down narrow green passes poor James took the lead,
'Til a lorry shedding logs stopped us dead in our speed!
While a lady relaxed in the grass with a Colitis smoke,
Welsh Mike grabbed a log like a heroic bloke.
Yet thankful we survived all the chaos and timber,
We bought our own lunch in a town so limber,
And made it at last where Chief Mdluli stands tall,
Ready for safari—the best story of all!