A Gentle Word Before We Begin: Given the sheer whirlwind of places, unexpected dramas, and unforgettable moments we packed into this journey, my memory of certain dates, stops, and sequences is a bit of a blur! If you were on this tour with us, your own recollections might differ slightly, or you might remember the bits that meant the most to you in a completely different light. That is the beauty of sharing an adventure like this—we all carry home our own unique pieces of the puzzle. Consider this my personal, affectionate take on our incredible journey together.
South Africa Tour — Episode 3: Bumpy Safaris, Infinity Pools, and Airport Heroes
After two whirlwind, event-filled days on the road, our group of 25 seniors finally rolled up to the Mdluli Safari Lodge in Kruger National Park for a three-night stay (Sept 12–15). Compared to the fast-paced itinerary so far, arriving here was a welcome change. The reception was refreshingly laid-back.
We collected our keys, identified our luggage, and gathered together at the reception desk for Albertina to give us our official safari briefing. The routine was set: an early-morning wake-up call, a quick dash to the bar area for a hot cup of tea, coffee, or hot chocolate, and then straight into a covered safari jeep for our first game drive.
There was a catch, though—if we wanted to go out for a second full day of safari, it would cost extra. Remembering the bumpy, sandy roads that bounced us around on the way in, I thought: Let’s see how the first run goes and whether my back holds out before committing to round two!
Glamping at Lodge 48
We were assigned to Lodge #48, which turned out to be a bit of a hike from the main area. While I’ve done my fair share of camping in the past, Teresa has never been a fan. Her scepticism vanished the second we saw our setup. This wasn't pitching a nylon tent in the mud; it was proper luxury glamping. Elevated high on wooden stilts, our canvas suite featured massive sliding glass doors, a private wooden deck complete with a hanging egg chair, and all the comforts of a high-end hotel room nestled right in the bush. Even the non-campers were instantly won over!
Of course, being out in the wild meant nature was never far away—Lianne gave us all a proper scare when she spotted an absolute monster of a spider perched right on the outside of her mosquito netting! Thankfully, the netting did its job, keeping the multi-legged locals firmly outdoors where they belonged.
Unpacking completely never makes sense on a fast-moving tour, so we just pulled out our safari outfits and bush hats to look the part in the morning. But before turning in, there was more pressing business: a cold beer or two at the bar. On our way, we picked up Rita, who was right next door in Lodge 47. It was quite funny that the tour company put all the "Taylors" together—maybe they thought Rita was a long-lost relative! Regardless of the mix-up, having her next door was a stroke of luck. Rita made the holiday fun, hilarious, and sociable, even if I've never in my life seen anyone with such an unrelenting, constant craving for tea.
On a Mission from God
After our first group dinner, the rest of the "Great 25" scattered back to their lodges for a well-earned rest. Naturally, we stayed for another cheeky bar session before navigating our way back to Lodge 48 in the pitch-black African night.
Morning arrived in total darkness. Morning ablutions sorted, we kitted ourselves out against the early chill with fleeces, heavy coats, hats, and gloves and head torch. By the time we made it to the bar, the coffee line was surprisingly long, packed with folks from outside our group. Still, the mission was accomplished:
Teresa secured her hot chocolate, I got my coffee, and Rita successfully negotiated with the bartender for a full cup to satisfy her endless tea cravings.
Because of our hot drink pitstop, the jeeps were already filling up by the time we walked over. Wanting to sit together, the "Taylor family" took the seats in the very back row. Picture the scene: freezing cold, semi-dark, three of us wedged in the back, and Rita sitting proudly in full sunglasses—we were on a mission from God!
Joining us in the jeep were our resident twitchers, Roy and Lynne, complete with their trusty bird-identifying guidebook resting on their knees. They were a brilliant addition, pointing out and naming every feathered creature that flew past. Lynne even knew all the calls by heart—explaining that the cooing of the Cape Turtle Dove was telling us to "Work HAR-der, work HAR-der!" (or "Drink LA-ger!" depending on how thirsty you were), while the loud, three-note call echoing through the trees was the famous Red-chested Cuckoo shouting "Piet-my-vrou!"
As we drove off through the gates, it felt like a scene straight out of Jurassic Park—giant barriers parting as we plunged into a whole new world. The ride was as bumpy as advertised, and I remembered a strict note in the holiday blurb warning us not to bring mobile phones on these rough drives. Yet, as I looked around our jeep and passed others throughout the day, smartphones were everywhere! There I was with my standalone camera, which hadn't seen the light of day since 2018.
Fortunately, two brilliant photographers on our tour—Paul and Adrian—were proper pros. They shared a wonderful montage of close-up photos covering the Big Five and the incredible array of wildlife roaming the park.
Back in the rear row, the jeep felt like a naughty school trip with Rita and Teresa giggling incessantly and shivering until the sun finally came out to warm us up. Then came Rita’s legendary tech crisis. To her credit, she had a safety lanyard around her Android phone to stop it from bouncing out into the bush. Naturally, that didn't stop her from dropping it anyway, sending it sliding right between her legs. As she was frantically fishing around in the depths of her seat for the phone, her oversized rockstar sunglasses went flying next. There was poor Rita, blind as a bat, tangled in phone lanyards, groping around her knees in a moving jeep while Teresa and I practically burst a blood vessel trying not to laugh out loud!
Pears, Pool Days, and Hippo Regrets
Rita managed to recover all her belongings safely, and we eventually pulled in for our packed breakfast at the designated lodge. It was more tea for Rita and Teresa, coffee for me, and a jamboree bag of treats featuring a pear so gargantuan it looked like a world record contender. I decided saving that beast for later was the wisest move.
The afternoon brought more adventures, bumps, and grinds before we stopped at Skukuza for lunch on our own dollar. Eating at a Wimpy bar while cheeky monkeys lurked nearby watching our every fry pretty much capped off Day 1.
Truth be told, I never really got the safari bug. Between the rough tracks and my aching back, we made the easy call to skip the optional, extra-cost second safari drive. Instead, we traded the dusty jeep for total relaxation. While the rest of the group ventured back out, Teresa and Rita spent a heavenly day dangling their swollen ankles in the cool water of Mdluli's infinity pool while I went for a refreshing swim.
When the rest of the group returned, however, we felt a little duped by the itinerary. Their paid safari turned out to be a far superior drive compared to our complimentary first run. We had been taken along a dry route with no water in sight (with the guides giving what felt like a convenient excuse at the time), whereas the group’s new photos showed lush waterholes, hippos, and a completely different game-viewing experience! We were a little disappointed not to have seen the hippos live, but the rest of the group clearly had more energy for another round of heavy bouncing than our backs could take, and we were glad they enjoyed it.
The rest of our stay at Mdluli flew by in a blur of cold beers, a fantastic evening BBQ, and a leisurely sit-down breakfast before checking Michael’s latest WhatsApp message for our departure instructions.
The Journey to PE: Roadside Pitstops and Airport Heroes
Our coach journey back toward Johannesburg was the reverse leg of our inward trip, taking us roughly 130 miles (210 km) back to the Alzu Petroport service station on the N4 before pushing another 110 miles (175 km) onward to O.R. Tambo International Airport.
The drive was far from routine. Our Welsh friend Mike fell terribly ill on the coach, forcing the bus to make an unscheduled stop on the side of the road so he could catch his breath and relieve his sickness before we could press onward.
When we finally reached the airport in Johannesburg, the drama peaked. The main tour group marched off toward security, inadvertently leaving us behind just as Rita suffered a sudden, severe asthma attack in the middle of the terminal. Tour manager Michael had received no prior warning about her condition, but he stepped up like a true knight in shining armour, staying right by her side to ensure she wasn't overwhelmed by the airport chaos and tour details.
After our two-hour Airlink flight down to Port Elizabeth (departing at 18:15 and landing at 20:00), we finally made it to The Boardwalk Hotel on Beach Road. As Michael had warned in his message, any late-night dinner after arrival was at our own expense, but we were just glad to arrive. To our delight, Mike was already at the hotel looking remarkably better and comfortably enjoying a welcome drink on arrival.
With everyone safe and accounted for, Michael sent round a welcome update: a relaxed 10:30 AM departure the next morning, leaving us plenty of time for a proper sit-down breakfast. All were happy once again!
Little did any of us realise, however, that poor Mike’s ordeal was far from over. Following our upcoming drive toward Knysna, his condition would take a terrifying turn, resulting in an emergency rush to the hospital for an urgent operation on a strangulated hernia. It was a heartbreaking blow for Mike and his lovely wife Gail—their dream South African adventure was effectively cut short in an instant. Between the staggering emergency medical expenses and the daunting wait for doctors to assess Mike as fit to fly home, our hearts truly went out to them both. As we packed up to continue our journey as "the Great 23," our fondest thoughts and wishes stayed behind in the hospital with our dear Welsh friends.
High Seas, Ostrich Massages, and the Road to Cape Town
Leaving Port Elizabeth should have been straightforward, but The Boardwalk Hotel had one final surprise in store for us. While the hotel had a sleek, stylish design, practicality took a back seat.
Then, the "Check-In Lottery: Phase Two" began...
You are rounded up like cattle—or rather, a shuffling horde of zombified tourists—and steered briskly away from the actual reception desk. But before anyone can claim asylum in a sun lounger, there’s a vital security checkpoint: The Great Suitcase Line-Up. You all stand there in a daze, pointing at black wheelie bags like a police lineup. "Yes, officer, that’s my Samsonite. I’d recognize those scuff marks anywhere."
Once the luggage is officially identified and cleared of contraband, the Hotel Manager steps up to explain the check-in protocol. He manages to call out about three names before realizing he’s severely outmatched by the sheer, unbridled chaos of a jet-lagged tour group. Seeing the glazed eyes and slack jaws staring back at him, he wisely waves the white flag and hands the clipboards over to Michael.
Michael takes the floor, and instantly, time folds back on itself.
The hotel lobby evaporates. The manicured gardens vanish. Suddenly, you are seven years old again, sitting cross-legged on a drafty wooden floor during morning assembly while the headmaster reads out the register:
"Okay class, quiet down! Quiet down! Single file, please. Adrian and Hazel... yes, sit together. Janet and John... no talking at the back! Hand in your dinner money and collect your room keys."
You almost look down to check if you’re wearing short trousers and a satchel. All that’s missing is a glass of warm milk and a wooden ruler to bring the schoolroom nostalgia to a complete 100%.
The best part? You survived the roll call, passed suitcase recognition, and didn't get sent to the headmaster's office. Now, go grab a cold drink, find that pool, and remind yourself you’re on holiday—not in double geography.
Our room was Room 101—which, looking back at George Orwell, should have been my first bloody warning! But at the time, it looked absolute luxury. Even the bath had one of those fancy, telephone-style shower attachments.
I was sprawled across the bed—completely exhausted, floating somewhere near a state of coma—when she announced: 'I’m going to wash my hair!'
Fine. Splendid. Enjoy.
A moment passes. Then:
'Vince? I can’t turn the taps on.'
I grunted softly into the pillow.
Then, louder this time: 'Viiiinnce!'
'What?!' I replied, forcing one eyelid open with sheer willpower.
So, like the heroic knight I am, I dragged my weary body off the bed, grabbed a bath towel for extra grip, and wrestled the stubborn taps open.
Instantly, the shower attachment exploded into a roaring, apocalyptic waterfall! Water went absolutely everywhere—flooding the tiles, soaking the mats, spraying the ceiling.
She stared at the deluge, turned to me in the middle of Room 101's water torture, and said with pure irritation: 'Well... I guess I won't wash my hair then!'"
We thought we had it bad, but another member of our group suffered an even worse fate when their room completely flooded, so I heard anyway?
Plumbing disasters aside, we made the most of our relaxed 10:30 AM departure, enjoying a proper sit-down breakfast before loading up onto the coach.
The Loo-less Bus and Lunch in a Container
Once on the road toward Knysna, a new problem quickly became apparent: our coach had no onboard washroom facilities! For a group of seniors—and Rita with her constant, relentless cravings for tea—a long drive with no toilet meant making frequent, unscheduled "comfort stops" along the highway to keep everyone comfortable.
To stretch our legs, we stopped at the breath-taking Storms River Mouth in Tsitsikamma National Park. It was a wild, spectacular setting where massive waves came crashing against the rocky coastline.
We grabbed lunch (on our own dollar) at the rest camp's outdoor eatery, which was housed inside what was literally a converted 40-foot shipping container! We all squeezed into the long wooden tables inside the container, perusing the menus and having a proper laugh about our travels so far.
St. Francis and the Ten O'Clock Cash-Up
By the time we finally pulled into Knysna to check in at the Protea Hotel Knysna Quays for our two-night stay (Sept 16–18), Tour Manager Michael decided enough was enough regarding our transport. He put his foot down and instructed the driver to turn right around and drive the coach all the way back to Port Elizabeth to swap it for a bus equipped with a proper toilet for the rest of our journey.
After the drama of the loo-less coach, checking into the Protea Hotel Knysna Quays for our two-night stay felt like absolute luxury. Tour Manager Michael had recommended a local spot called the Dry Dock restaurant, but a few of us fancied something with a bit of kick and headed out for some legendary Peri-Peri chicken and chips at the nearby Mozambican restaurant instead.
When Rita, Adrian, Hazel, Teresa, and I strolled back into the hotel lobby around 10:00 PM, we spotted Francis sitting in the bar. We naturally joined him for a nightcap. Francis, ever the gentleman, kindly bought us all a round to set the mood. Wanting to return the hospitality, I walked up to the bar to get the next round in—only to be met with the classic hospitality blow: "Sorry, we've already cashed up for the night. The bar is closed."
At 10:00 PM! In a proper hotel!
Well, our Francis was having none of that nonsense. He politely but firmly demanded to see the manager.
As if summoned by magic—like Mr Benn stepping out of the costume shop—the hotel manager suddenly appeared. For a second, we all exchanged glances, thinking: Oh oh, here comes trouble...
However, what an absolute player Francis turned out to be! He laid down the law and read the manager the full "Rights of Man in Hotels" charter:
- A: This is a hotel, not a local boozer.
- B: There was no warning bell, no "last orders" called, and no notice given to paying guests.
- C: Most importantly, he was a Marriott Premium Member!
The manager didn't stand a chance. Despite the tills being cashed up, a miracle occurred: the bar reopened, and I was allowed to put the full round straight onto my room tab.
Naturally, after another fantastic Mozambican meal the following evening (a proper chicken curry for me this time), we marched straight back into that bar with full confidence. God Bless Saint Francis, I say!
The Treacherous Walk at Featherbed
The following day, we gathered for our planned excursion to the Featherbed Nature Reserve. Michael's WhatsApp message laid out the schedule: a short 500-metre walk to the Cruise Café at 11:00 AM, followed by an 11:30 AM ferry ride across the lagoon to Featherbed.
Upon landing at 12:00 PM, we boarded open-air 4x4 trailers to be driven up to the top of the reserve's towering coastal cliffs and for the walk we we handed what looked like broom handles. Using our sticks we managed to get up the 4x4s with the views over the Knysna Heads and the ocean looking magnificent, but the return journey was on foot—a guided trek back down the cliffside trail. Michael’s update had gently warned us that "the walk is mostly downhill and can be challenging", but "challenging" turned out to be an understatement for the steep, uneven tracks and loose gravel and even with Triggers' new broom handle it was dodgy.
As we navigated the tricky descent, disaster struck. Neelam—wife of Herbal—took a sudden slip on the steep path and went down hard, hurting her arm in the fall.
If there was ever a place to suffer an injury, being accompanied by her husband Herbal was the ultimate silver lining. As a medical doctor, Herbal immediately sprang into action with steady, practised hands, assessing if there was a break and stabilising her arm on the spot. Neelam had to be taken to the local hospital to be properly examined, ending up healing a six week fracture, but she was an absolute trooper—re-joining our group with her arm securely strapped up in a sling and bearing the rest of the trip with immense grace and good humour, we were still the Great 23!
Ostrich Massages and Eggs in Oudtshoorn
On Friday, September 18th, we checked out of Knysna and set off toward Oudtshoorn, in a new bus to the the ostrich capital of the world, for a truly memorable pitstop before making our final leg to Cape Town.
The ostrich farm tour was hilarious from start to finish. We learned all about the giant birds, met some ostriches that were rather hilariously "in heat," and were introduced to Betsy, the oldest bird on the farm.
The interactive experiences were where the real fun began! Some brave souls in our group opted for an unusual "neck massage"—standing with a bucket of feed held over their heads while four hungry ostriches reached right over them, pecking away vigorously and giving them quite the thorough rubdown. We also got to test the incredible strength of an ostrich egg by standing directly on top of one without it cracking. The highlight of the demonstration came when the mischievous guide secretly smacked the back of the fence right behind an unsuspecting Lianne, sending her leaping sky-high in absolute shock to the utter delight of everyone watching!
After a thoroughly entertaining afternoon with the feathered locals, we boarded our swapped-out coach (complete with a working loo!) and headed for the final leg of our tour. By the evening of September 18th, we finally arrived at our luxury destination in the mother city: Southern Sun The Cullinan in Cape Town City Centre, our base for the remaining four nights of an unforgettable holiday. With Table Mountain towering in the background and four days of exploring ahead, we settled in for our grand finale before that long, 11-hour-and-50-minute flight home from Cape Town International back to London Heathrow.
While the WhatsApp group chat may be fading fast, I'm keeping the stories alive right here! That said, I’d still love to hear your version of events—if anyone from the group wants to share their own favourite memories, highlights, or stories from those final four days in Cape Town, please do send them my way!
And no, I won't end this saga with a poetic, emotional send-off—instead, I'll close out with a few of my finest jokes from the tour. You know, the ones everyone in the group insisted they couldn't remember... or claimed they were actively trying to forget!
South Africa Tour — Cape Town Capers & The Forgotten Joke Vault - Warning some people might be offended by these jokes as they come from a era where funny was historic and comedians now carry a health warning!
