The Wine Country and La Residence

Saturday we were collected at the hotel promptly at nine to begin our tour of the Winelands. Gwenna had allowed as how maybe we should cut it a bit short so as to arrive at La Residence with enough time to enjoy the serenity and amenities there. Having toured wineries before, Tom and I were fine with that, although we were blissfully unaware at that point of how right she was.

We headed back toward Cape Town through the wine country. Our first stop was at a charming country market staffed almost entirely by older folk, perhaps retired and trying to earn a bit of money while cultivating their culinary talents and enjoying each other’s company. Each stall was manned by one or two 60-somethings, touting their homemade cheeses, marmalades, chutneys, brandy cakes, hot and cold smoked salmon, artisan breads, olive oils and vinegars, pickles, fruit preserves, and of course, wine. Biltong, one of the national foods, is a type of jerky—various meats slowly dried over a very low heat source (like a light bulb) and aerated with a fan. I told the biltong man that I used to make jerky using an electric dehydrator and he said his way was better.

Leaving the market we drove past one vineyard after another, the countryside not so different from the California wine valleys or the Medoc region of France. Gentle mountains loomed in the background and a slight rain fell, although it wasn’t the kind of rain to cramp our style, more of a mist really. We stopped in one winery for a wee taste and enjoyed the spectacular views over the rolling grape vines which seemed to stretch forever into the distance.

Lunch was at Vergelegen, a winery situated on 7400 acres of rolling hills and impeccably groomed vines and housing a restaurant aptly named Lady Florence Phillips Restaurant after the socialite who single-handedly restored the magnificent country mansion to its former glory. On the grounds are enormous camphor trees among which you can have a gourmet picnic complemented by their award winning wines—weather permitting.

By now, Gwenna was anxious to get to the hotel and so were we all. We got there around four, we were greeted like VIPs at the door with champagne, and as Don and Gwenna pointed out later, we weren’t even asked for our passports or credit cards-- the usual ritual.

The hotel has only been open since January and consists of twelve suites, each uniquely decorated by the owner Liz Biden (no relation) who, with her husband, own three such hotels in Africa. It is beautiful beyond description. The grounds are lush with palm trees and fragrant flowers. The interiors are filled with antiques and funky, quirky touches that Liz provides. The artwork is amazing. Rumor has it that Lionel Ritchie is staying here for the weekend, having performed in Cape Town last night, but we haven’t seen him or any of his entourage. A sighting this evening is possible though.

Our room is spectacular. The antique four poster bed is painted chartreuse, the loveseat and wing chairs are upholstered in hot pink and a pink and green tropical print, the Louis Quatorze desk is topped with mellow leather, the French doors are covered with lime silk puddling drapes, and there is a fully stocked minibar—complementary! The large marble-decked verandah has a comfy rattan couch where I sit to write this overlooking a mountain range, a grove of infant olive trees and the courtyard of the hotel with infinity pool. I cannot believe I am here basking in such splendor.

Last night we had dinner here—a four course affair with the tables set in the main lobby of the hotel. There is no dining room as such, but there are tables set outside overlooking the inner courtyard and then dinner is served inside where tables are set up each night in the magnificent long room flanked on either side by fireplaces, Asian art and antiques. Evan, the wine steward and all around Man Friday, told us that the chandelier in the main entry weighs at least 600 pounds and arrived to be assembled in 28 boxes, much to the chagrin of the staff.

Since there are only twelve rooms, dinner was an intime little deal with subdued conversation and quiet music. We had been accosted earlier while having drinks by a rather loud and loquacious American living in London who bent our respective ears with the story of her divorce from a Texas oilman, her being “dropped off” by the same gentleman in London, and her efforts to make her way alone in the big city with her two daughters, no doubt sustained by substantial alimony and a talent for attracting available men. She was staying at La Residence with her “business partner” who was still getting ready. Luckily we were saved when Evan escorted us to our table.

After we were seated and visited by the female chef who described what the dinner would be, a young couple arrived and sat at the table across from us. The young woman, early twenties, was beautiful, long blond hair, tanned slim body and dressed like a starlet. Her gentleman friend, also young, was wearing red (not maroon—RED) pants, loafers without socks and a blazer. He had such refined features and such an air of aristocracy and cool about him that Gwenna and I decided he was probably the spoiled son of a rich count, courting a young lovely that he had picked up on the Riviera and was trying to impress with a holiday in South Africa.

Boy were we wrong! As dinner was coming to a close, the young man rose from his seat, clinked his glass for attention and stood up, at which point I said omigod are you going to propose? And he said no, that’s already done! He politely asked the room for a mere moment of our attention and said that he would like to propose a toast to his new bride of one week, that they were both from Boca Raton, Florida, and that they were having the time of their lives and were so delighted to be there. It couldn’t have been more charming. He then went around and introduced himself and his lovely young bride to each table and we learned that he was a former Navy Seal who now works for a company that provides security for government contractors in Iraq! So spoiled brats they are not!

We ran into them again today, chatted and wished them well with the rest of their honeymoon and the rest of their lives and I got their picture from my balcony as they filmed and played by the pool. Ain’t love grand?

This afternoon, having skipped the Robben Island tour, Tom and I hung around the hotel until about 1:30 and then availed ourselves of the complementary ride into the town where we walked around and had a late lunch of steak and frites at a little French restaurant on the main drag. The filet was the best we’ve had in ages, tender and cooked to perfection. The fries were just like you get in Paris. Julienned veggies accompanied the meal. We had a bottle of the local Chardonnay and the entire bill was under $25. There is a God.

Don and Gwenna aren’t due back for an hour or so and we decided earlier that we aren’t going to eat dinner tonight—you can eat yourself into a stupor if you aren’t careful—but we are going to go down to the courtyard, perhaps have a cocktail, and see if we can catch a glimpse of you-know-who.

This may be my last chance for good internet. Tomorrow we fly from Cape Town to Kruger National Park and the Tinga Game Reserve and if they have wireless it will truly be a Wonder of the World. We can only hope. But in any case, I'll continue to write and will post when and if I can. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. May your holidays be filled with blessings.