We spent the weekend in a postcard. In a white washed house hidden among pine trees that breathe like ghost choirs at night. Arriving in the dark to a place named Spookfontein is eerie. Especially when it’s late and you’re crawling around a gumtree forest thronging with wildlife cackling and barking at your city ways and apple map dependencies. The estate is an assault of nature with massive expanses of fynbos and mountains. Things keep you up at night and rattle at your doors and shutters. It’s nature trying to get close to your skin and it’s cheered on by two-tone frogs that sound like a David Guetta intro. The dark is an accompaniment of birds, bats, and bumps of corrugated iron contracting in the cold mornings. Saturday afternoon at Creation wines. The air was so high and cool you can feel the grapes relaxing on their trellises. They can’t wait to photosynthesize. The sun hugs the slow ridges and chardonnary takes the afternoon off in your mouth. Being in the Hemel en Aarde valley always feels like being lost in a deep dream. It’s the type of place people still leave farm gates open and doors unlocked. The type of ‘just leave the money in the guestbook’ trust. Do these places still exist and maybe it’s better not to tell anyone about them.
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