Inside the Stunning Safari Lodge That Offers a Sleepout Glamping Adventure
In the sand forests of South Africa’s KwaZulu-Natal province, what you see is only half the tale.
A brief snarl. Then a sharp snap like a dry stick splintering underfoot. I can’t see the pride of lions but, boy, can I hear them. “They’re crunching on the bones,” says guide Josie Romer-Lee, a bit too loudly for my comfort. A foggy dusk and an impenetrable thicket shields us from the scene. Neither stops Romer-Lee driving up onto said thicket to get closer to the gory meal. Please, I telepathically beg, don’t park on top of their picnic.
“How close are they?” someone asks as the vehicle shudders to a halt with its front wheels off the ground. “Just there. Maybe seven metres? Watch out,” says Romer-Lee, gesturing loosely at me. “They might wander around your side.” I clutch both my mouth and the open-top Toyota, desperately hoping the group is done with question time.
It’s a surprise to no-one, least of all to the very composed team of Romer-Lee and tracker Thembinkosi Dlamini, known as “Mr. T”, that it’s my first time on safari. It’s also my first time in South Africa and when I board the truck for this game drive, all I’ve seen of the country are the pillowy hills of the north Durban coast, a few roadside tuck shops and a sprinkle of pineapple stands on the 3.5-hour journey from the airport.
My initiation takes place at &Beyond Phinda Forest Lodge in KwaZulu-Natal, near the Eswatini (Swaziland) border. It’s one of six lodges stationed on Phinda’s 30,000 hectares of cattle-farm-turned-private-game-reserve, where seven ecosystems adjoin. This patchwork of floodplain grassland, thornveld savanna, woodlands and sand forests teems with life. As far as close encounters go, the big cat ASMR I experienced doesn’t even rank. There was the time Steve, a cantankerous elephant, threatened to ruin a guest’s birthday by taking his trunk to a celebratory table (the cake was saved). Or when Romer-Lee had to climb a tree to escape a lion during her multi-day training hike in the reserve. I have a lot to learn.
My sleeping quarters are a far less testing environment. The 16 suites of the newly refurbished property nestle in the sand forests, one of the last habitats of its kind in the world. The Lebombo wattle and torchwood trees hide plenty of surprises outside the private cabins that have deep soaking tubs and wraparound balconies. On my way to breakfast after our evening encounter, I have to cautiously shoo a nyala, a type of antelope with a shiny striped pelt, off the path that leads to the restaurant. He moves just a little to the left, unperturbed.
The lodge’s infinity pool is also at the edge of the forest, as is the intimate, two-room spa, its floor-to-ceiling windows inviting in views of the surrounding savanna. Despite the odd vervet monkey threatening to plop onto my table at lunch (and the fact I need an escort to my room for safety once the sun’s down), I can’t quite believe that after just a 10-minute drive, we have to break suddenly as an elephant concludes its dirt bath.
On Phinda, anything is possible. In the hazy light one afternoon, we trundle past a dazzle of zebras, their tails flicking golden dust into the air. Later, an implausibility of wildebeest allows us passage. We spot buffalo and shiny hippo heads sticking out of a swamp. We’re in Big Five territory but there are also birds, butterflies, spiders and beetles that can’t be found anywhere else and our guides point out beauty in all its shapes and sizes.
I fall briefly in love with a secretary bird, a crane-ish creature with a firework of head feathers, its black leg colourings reaching only to capri-length. We see the skittish suni – a teeny Bambi-like antelope endemic to the sand forest – outside reception. One night, driving into the darkness with only Mr T’s thin spotlight beaming us home, he shoots up a hand and Romer-Lee screeches to a halt. We back up, the light illuminating some scrub. Encouraged out of the car, I have to stand within 30 centimetres of where the beam lands before I can even make out the shape – a chameleon, no bigger than a quartered Granny Smith apple, curled on a leaf.
The early evening drives, when the sun starts collapsing behind the trees, soon become my favourite, despite my shaky beginnings. In times of low light, the landscape undergoes a set change and the reserve’s residents start fighting for a say. Some sounds hiss out of the thorn bushes like sprinklers; some flick like a mechanical tracking beep; others urgently cry “Who? Who?!’ into the void. On the first night, I was keenly aware of the lack of fences, roofs and doors. But with each drive into the unknown, I relish the lack of boundaries more and more.
On our final night, we don’t head back to the lodge as usual. The truck rounds a new corner, revealing sleepout beds arranged in a crescent shape around a firepit and strung with mosquito nets. There’s a buffet of drinks and I can smell a barbecue underway. Our host from the lodge, Happy, has joined us and she’s brought marshmallows for the flames.
Though I’m shielded only by a thin mesh canopy, I fall asleep immediately in my soft swag. I’m woken a few hours later by two hyenas, discussing something in the dark. I’m as exposed as I could be but after five nights with little more than the moon as a spotlight, the sound of their shrieks doesn’t scare me. I pull the covers to my chin and float back into my dreams.
