I pulled up beside the zirconium zebra and waited to see if the gates would open, writes Oliver Cartwright.
Looking around, I noticed the promotional video had been spot-on: a multiplicity of design features and African textures all welcomed us to the Sardinia Bay Golf & Wildlife Estate.
Concrete, wood, stone and ironwork; and there should have been some other material, but I couldn’t remember what.
Two clubs and a golf ball hovered above the security office, with plenty of air beneath the roof.
A terracotta proscenium arch defined the entrance and one could almost hear it say: Come on through; act out your African dream.
The 15-minute promise
I rolled forward a bit and caught sight of the zebra’s fat ass – in good condition like all zebras in the wild.
A plank walkway meandered off through fynbos and restio grasses to one side and the interlocking paving curved ahead. Strident chirping came from two mossies jostling in the three-pronged aloe.
A movement. Someone inside the control room? And there was my answer staring me in the face.
My own face actually – in the two-way mirror to my right. It was glass; the other material in the promo video.
Good he’s going to let us in. I got my favourite liquid fuelled pen ready and clicked it a few times. A security guard appeared; tall, alert and smart in his white shirt and dark tie, but no clipboard for me to sign.
“Morning Gideon,” I said, looking at his name badge. “We just want to look around, see what the plots are like, maybe chat to some of the people. Can you open up?”
“So, you’re not visiting anyone. Did you arrange with Mr Moore or Mr Erasmus?”
I remembered mention of Alan and Leon on the website but thought I’d prefer to get my first impressions from a visit to the actual site.
“No, but we won’t be long. Do you have a map of the layout? I’ll follow that.”
He didn’t move, so I thought a bit of flattery might get us through. Lin, my wife, who was sitting next to me, realised I was going to launch into one of my more embarrassing interactions and tried to stop me.
“We’re already wasting time coming here,” she said. “We should be halfway to Tsitsikamma by now. Stop pestering him and let’s get going.”
But I was in full swing.
“This entrance and exit control point is one of the best designs I’ve seen. Clean lines, modern security office and clear parking and waiting areas. And who looks after the landscaped gardens here?”
But, looking at his stance, I realised that no amount of sweet-talk was going to get us through those timber and iron gates.
Gideon disappeared behind the glass and emerged with a telephone ringing on an outgoing call. He spoke for a second or two before handing it to me. It was Alan Moore, the agent.
“So you’ve come all the way from Grahamstown? Most people contact me to make an appointment first, but don’t worry.
“I’m at Exclusive Books in Walmer Park. Go to the Grass Roof, order a coffee and I’ll meet you there in 10 to 15 minutes. What colour is your shirt?”
“Fifteen minutes,” I said. “But you’re in the middle of town. We need to get to The Fernery for sundowners.”
We were miles out in the country on a coastal road, way beyond Schoenies and the Sacramento Trail. We had just backtracked from the ocean and the beach where a sign read, “Nature Reserve, Marine Protected Area”.
“There’s a sculptured zebra pawing the ground next to me,” I continued. “And I can see a couple of real ones through a gap below the electric fencing. How are you going to get here that quickly?”
“Just go order your coffee. Gideon will direct you if you haven’t already driven past the rooftop meadow. And one for me too – tell them Alan says, ‘Just the usual’.”
First impressions are lasting
Well, we later found out how he got to the remote farm stall in such a short time. He chatted about the remarkable interest in the estate since its launch and mentioned that most of the usual amenities were a lot closer than Walmer Park.
Then he took us on a tour, starting with Gideon cracking both the gates and a big smile for us as we drove through.
Looking at the Google street views earlier, in Grahamstown, I thought the place was all tatty thorn and scrub bush, like that of the windswept approaches to PE.
But close-up was a different matter. Flourishing, succulent greens, indigenous forests and rolling fairways, a small herd of impala, water holes and birds.
A foursome of golfers tried to chase some guineafowl out the way as we meandered along contoured drives past one or two houses. The one which caught our interest was over a hill, out on a limb, with its cascading changing-level gardens, stone and design work with a capped chimney.
And, most surprising of all, no wall. Nothing blocked the look and lines and changing dimensions as we drove past and circled back, avoiding the saplings they’d planted across the road. The textures and colours in startling contrast to our old colonial Grahamstown.
Exploring dreamy homes
Alan took us back, up over the brow, with a view of the deep blue sea not too far away, past a brilliant, single-level design on a hill to our right, to look at two of the nearly completed houses.
The first, an actual physical construction of a plan we’d liked on the information site: compact, practical, right for two, with, paradoxically, wide open spaces stretching away from the open-plan living area to the milkwood trees and the grassy path leading off on a game trail.
The other had the kitchen already fitted.
“You say to the builder, ‘I want these tiles and the stove here and eye level cupboards and these sorts of counter tops and taps.’ And you tell him, R60 000 tops, or whatever you can spend.”
Lin ran her fingers along the edges and gazed up and around, then went and stood where she thought the fridge should go, looking for the kitchen triangle. The stove was in but where was the sink? Things I wouldn’t notice.
“Not this island,” she said. “It should go over there.” But she’d given no other clue as to what she thought of the park-like outdoors and the roaming wildlife. “What about the recreation centre?” she asked.
Alan swallowed and said something about the golf club, a gathering place in the meantime. He drove us around a curve, past a low concrete structure, pointing out that it was the water treatment works, then stopped beside a big picture.
High-pitched roof and stonework chimney, with a lot of words telling what was to be. Children splashing about.
“I’ll believe that when it’s more than just a pretty picture,” she said. “One coastal development we saw near East London said they were going to build a private runway for residents. Fat chance.” But Alan assured us plans were underway.
We continued past more houses, all with striking features, all different and all individual. Rain tanks and green energy everywhere. The designs set my teeth and my senses tingling.
Past more rolling fairways and potted greens, over another hill and across to a sweeping circle looking down onto a damp pond. Soon to be filled with recycled water, along with many others in the next phase of development.
And, further along, to our right, a grassy valley with water stretching along to a dense stand of trees. Standing alongside the lake were eland, springbok and the well-fed zebras. They kept their distance but did not look stressed at our appearance.
Journey to the next phase of our lives
Alan took us back to the entrance area and into his office next to our parked Terios. I was still on-stage in some other world, acting out my part, taking shallow breaths. But what did Lin think?
Alan sat us down at a wide, low table and went across to a cabinet next to assorted Remax paraphernalia.
I should mention that, back in Grahamstown with retirement coming up, we had decided on a road trip; to stay over at various places and try to find the ideal setting for the next phase of our lives.
We had already experienced the Wild Coast, with hiking trails and long weekenders, Cintsa, Haga-Haga and Port St Johns.
There was also the Wild Coast Meander (twice), with nights spent in the luxury of welcoming hotels, starting at Kob Inn and hiking to Mazeppa, Wavecrest, wreck of the Jacaranda, Trennery’s and Seagulls, the Great Kei River and stopping at Morgan Bay.
But having lived in Grahamstown, virtually since we met as students, me from Zim and Lin from PE, and knowing how things were, we thought, maybe the Western Cape.
We had a month for our journey, so we were going to drive to Cape Town via the coastal Garden Route and return along the inland roads. Google said the round trip would be 2 297 kilometres.
We booked our two cats into the kennels, then made a few bookings of our own. Somebody had told us about a huge development within striking distance of the new Baywest Mall in Port Elizabeth and somehow that set us thinking, “How about a golf estate?”
A web keyword search turned up some information about the Sardinia Bay Golf & Wildlife Estate, and we thought half-heartedly about having a look as we drove out through PE.
Then we’d spend our first night at our honeymoon hotel, the Tsitsikamma Village Inn, looking around the forests and the Storms River Mouth.
Then on to Plett, Knysna and Wilderness – which we quite liked, with canoe trips from the Fairy Knowe past the Ebb and Flow nature cottages, under the bridge, gliding at water’s level through the reeds.
Then George, a little way from the coast but close to an airport, so our two sons could fly in to visit us without the 137-kilometre drive from the airport to our family home.
Then hopping past Mossel Bay and the inland villages to Hermanus. We’d enjoyed our stay there for a wedding a year earlier. Quiet, clean, and full of shipping mysteries and ocean histories.
Then Gordons Bay and around to Fish Hoek and Simon’s Town. And we were told we had to look at Hout Bay; that was the place for a quiet retirement.
And, after considering thoughtfully whether Clifton or the Waterfront would do, and deciding they would not, we planned to return inland via the Wine Route.
Stellenbosch, Paarl, Franschhoek and a rugged pass near Prince Albert. Then: not London, not Paris, not New York, but Calitzdorp. One of our friends was living there, eating olives and drinking wine, we heard. Then home through familiar territory.
Making a life-changing decision
But, as I was saying, Alan sat us down at a wide, low table and spread out a scattering of colours. I looked non-comprehendingly at prices and plans and the estate layout.
Lin picked up a sheet and ran her finger down until it stopped at a certain plot and I could see her making a note of the price. Logical, head firmly in charge, heart in abeyance, she shuffled the papers into a promotional folder and stood up.
“Now what?” I thought. Lots of analysis, comparisons and interminable visits to coastal and inland estate agents.
We said goodbye to that ever-present hovering smile and Lin and I walked to the car. She put the documents on the bonnet, and then I saw it. The glint.
She kept her mouth and face very still, but she couldn’t keep the light from her eyes. She stood awkwardly and tried to sort the papers in the folder.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked.
“I think you know what I think,” I replied. “It feels familiar. It seems like the place I’ve been trying to get to all my life.”
“Yes, this does seem right,” she said. “Let’s move here.”
We talked about the layout, ecology, architecture, the rolling contours, waterholes, grasslands and indigenous forests – and about the golf, recreation centre, security and sea. And we thought we’d have to check on Alan’s talk of amenities close by.
Then we decided there was not much point in traipsing around trying to find something more suitable. There was no better place than this and, if we had more to choose between, we’d just get confused.
“So that’s it?” I asked.
“That’s it,” she said, and we hopped into the Terios.
Then we turned around, past that swishing zirconium tail, and drove home, back to Grahamstown.
The total distance of our retirement road trip was 297 kilometres. Of course, we didn’t realise it then, but the journey to our piece of paradise had only just begun.