With its ancient cities, arid deserts and mountains steeped in history, Morocco is a haven for the intrepid traveller. And on Byroad Travel’s 17-day Moroccan Mosaic tour you’ll see all its greatest hits. Get lost in the maze of 9,500 streets and alleys in the world’s largest medina in Fez and sample plump olives at the Djemaa el-Fna market in Marrakech.
Leave the well-trodden path behind and delve into towns like Salé, which once harboured Berber Muslim pirates; Chefchaouen, an otherworldly city awash in blue; and Tétouan, a UNESCO World Heritage-listed town at the foothills of the Rif Mountains near the Mediterranean Sea. In the evenings, ride by camel across Saharan dunes or simply look to the star-studded sky before snuggling up in a boutique kasbah with the sweet scent of mint tea to lull you to sleep.
SUV, RV, scooter, 1970s Volkswagen Beetle – anything goes during the annual Put Foot Rally. And entrants can expect the same loosey-goosey approach when it comes to almost every element of the race, which the coordinators declare is definitely “not a race”. A lack of organisation, resources and a general mentality of insouciance is held in high regard on this “roughly, sort of, in the region of 8000-kilometre” rally, and responsibility for organising the route, accommodation, food and insurance rests with you. Meander through six southern African nations – South Africa (Cape Town is the starting point), Namibia, Botswana, Zambia, Malawi and Mozambique – stopping at six different checkpoints for six different parties in 19 days.
The goal of Put Foot is to leave a charitable footprint behind through its foundation. Money raised goes to providing school shoes for children and helping to save endangered animals, some of which you may encounter during your travels. NB: do not feed the wildlife, or allow the wildlife to feed on you.
It’s possibly the most flagrant display of animal cruelty I’ve ever witnessed. Moments after being tenderised mercilessly with a blunt-edged instrument, the victim is thrown onto a searing metal grate above a bed of hot coals. There, it’s pricked, prodded and tossed about until it’s barely recognisable.
Grid patterns score its flesh and sea salt is flung into its wounds. Who knew such abuse could be so mouth-watering?
In South Africa, the braai – an Afrikaans word meaning to grill – is the perfect excuse to gather with friends and family. With South Africa’s chequered history, you could say it brings the country together.
Even Heritage Day, a public holiday celebrated on 24 September each year, is affectionately known as Braai Day.
The love of meat cooked over an open fire, traditionally fuelled by wood and often charcoal (but never gas) is something all South Africans share. It cuts through ethnicity, race and class. In the 11 official languages spoken in the Rainbow Nation braai is the only word recognised by all. Where Australians have MasterChef, South Africa has Ultimate Braai Master.
The bloodied carcass being thrown around our braai is a sirloin fillet, though cuts of ostrich, bok (antelope) and wildebeest aren’t unheard of, particularly in rural areas up north. Sharing the grill is an unsightly curl of boerewors (farmer’s sausage), similarly flung around with reckless abandon. Each skin has been stuffed with minced beef, pork or lamb and seasoned by a fiery blend of herbs and spices introduced by seventeenth-century Asian slave labourers. It smells great, tastes better and looks truly awful.
I’ve anticipated this meal since I flew into Johannesburg two weeks ago. For seven years I lived in the Middle East, often socialising with South African expats and gorging on barbecued slabs of marinated beef, lamb and chicken. Here in their homeland, though, the opportunity for me to indulge in a braai has, thus far, proved elusive.
The problem is that I’ve been holed up in various five-star establishments. Diddums, you say. But while I’ve certainly enjoyed their indulgent offerings, the buffet dinners served up night after night lack the intimacy of a backyard cookout.
On this particular evening I’m standing on the patio of a friend’s cottage in the Cape Town seaside suburb of Fish Hoek. The sound of ocean breakers can be heard dispersing against the sand two blocks away and the last burning vestiges of sunlight reflect in the clouds, much like the charcoal embers glowing beneath the boerewors. Another Capetonian friend from those years in the Arabian Gulf brandishes a pair of tongs, clasping our meal as a heron might a fish.
Gareth flips the meat and tosses it around the grill, ensuring it’s evenly cooked. Watching his constant jostling drives me nuts – I adhere to a less is best philosophy when it comes to steak – but I dare not challenge him. The man with the tongs wields the power and etiquette dictates that advice can be sought but not forced.
Potatoes baking inside a blanket of foil rest on the coals while appetisers are spread on an adjacent table. Sides of coleslaw, garlic bread and warm butternut pumpkin salad baked with cream and chakalaka, a much-loved local vegetable relish, are brought out to complete the meal. In northern provinces, they might also prepare pap – a maize porridge that can be eaten dry and crumbling or dampened with rich gravy.
Each of us cradles a cold dop, the Afrikaans word for drink. In this instance, the dop is a stubby, but it might just as easily be wine, especially around Cape Town, where bountiful ‘wine farms’ produce decent pinotages and sauvignon blancs for as little as AU$5 a bottle. Brandy is another local drop we forgo this night.
Whenever the Springboks rugby team is playing, or the Proteas cricketers, fans organise braais around them. You’re expected to be able to cheer on a national team with a full stomach here. But tonight the television stays off, and conversation hums around the hearth – what some here call the ‘African TV’.
For now, I’ll just cheer on the process. Their barbecue technique is unfamiliar, but that’s not to say they do it wrong. Far from it. When you can savour the beautiful South African climate with a cold dop in hand and the warm glow of the fire nearby – especially with old friends to keep you company – it’s impossible not to feel that this is how life is meant to be lived.
INGREDIENTS
1 medium butternut pumpkin
250ml cream
1 can Hot and Spicy Chakalaka*
METHOD
Peel and dice the butternut pumpkin, discarding the seeds. Place the flesh in a casserole dish and pour the cream and chakalaka over the top. Mix to make sure the pumpkin is evenly covered. Put the dish in a preheated oven set to 180°C for 60 to 90 minutes, or until the pumpkin is tender. Serve warm.
* Chakalaka is a curried tomato, carrot, capsicum and cabbage sauce available online from South African Products.
Any bar that has a giant, shiny disco ball as part of its décor means partying business. And disco balls are just the beginning. Cape Town’s recently renovated Grand Africa also boasts an enormous red lounge in the shape of some very luscious-looking lips, two huge lion statues and a floating love heart. Despite the audacious styling choices, the interiors are inviting and relaxing, complementing the wooden boardwalks that sit atop marshmallow soft sand and fairytale style day beds.
The incredible Table Mountain makes up Grand Africa’s backdrop while the Atlantic Ocean glistens out ahead. A wide-ranging menu (we recommend any of the seafood dishes) keeps the energy levels up for the DJ sets, which hit the decks from about 4pm during summer, while the cocktail menu keeps the party going. And as things heat up and the nights cool down, this playful, and a little bit cheeky, Cape Town beach club is the place to be.
Discover a side of Africa you may not be familiar with – one that’s devoid of lions and elephants – on an eye-opening tour through West Africa with Abercrombie & Kent. The 16-day West Africa: People Past & Present expedition explores the colourful nations of Ghana, Togo and Benin, which are renowned for sun-soaked beaches, lively colonial cities (there’s a strong European influence due to the gold and slave trades) and fascinating cultural rituals.
Highlights include attending a real-life voodoo ceremony and meeting a witch doctor in Togo, cruising Africa’s largest stilt fishing village in Benin, checking out Ghana’s Akwasidae Festival and meeting local artisans. It’s a charming insight into a version of Africa that doesn’t often make the brochure.
Madagascar is one of the most biodiverse landscapes in the world, so there’s no better way of immersing yourself in the natural splendour of this island than by trekking through it for two weeks. Exodus Travels will lead you on an epic expedition through Andringitra, Isalo and Ranomafana National Parks (home to a remarkable array of endemic birds, frogs, reptiles and mammals), and you’ll also climb the country’s second-highest peak, Peak Boby.
The trips includes five days of hiking with full porterage anda couple more days of shorter walks, but a stopover at the gorgeous coastal town of Ifaty allows you to rest your weary feet. Of course, there’s also a visit to Anja Reserve to see ring-tailed lemurs, because there’s no way you can leave Madagascar without checking out these cute critters.
Prepare to eat your way through Morocco on what has to be one of the country’s most delicious tours. Your gastronomic journey, called Savory Spices and Souks, begins in Casablanca, before moving on to the fishing village of Essaouira, the High Atlas Mountains and Marrakech. Borrowing from Arabic, Berber, French and Spanish cultures, the local cuisine is a mouthwatering medley of pastries, grilled meats, soups and aromatic spices. And guess what? You’ll be sampling it all.
Other highlights include cooking classes, where you’ll whip up traditional meals like a fish tagine, plus stopovers at a women’s argan oil co-op, Bahia Palace and the Hassan II Mosque. There’s even a street food tour, because there’s no such thing as eating too much on this culinary adventure.
Located near the centre of Serengeti National Park, this camp is the place to be if you don’t want to work too hard when it comes to viewing wildlife. Its 15 luxury tents, complete with plunge pools on decks, are set at the heart of an area renowned for the annual wildebeest migration.
Even if you visit outside those months, you’ll be captivated by what you see on both guided safaris and walks. All year, the landscape surrounding Nanyukie has a high concentration of lions, leopards and cheetahs. You’ll never feel crowded here either – even the main tent, where guests gather for sundowners and meals, has lots of sitting areas both inside and out.
From the broken bridge to the pink clinic is 2.89 kilometres, reads the directions. Keep driving past a Mopane tree forest and dried up rainwater pans. Watch out for elephants crossing the sand road. Getting to the Okavango Delta Music Festival feels more like a scavenger hunt than a straightforward foray, which is wholly appropriate given this is no mediocre event.
Botswana is famed as a wildlife destination, but we’re here to explore sounds and song rather than set out on safari. Packed tightly into a 4WD, crowded by a cluster of camping equipment, I’m taking two friends – sound engineer Carmen and music-loving Lauren – on an alternative Okavango adventure.
Our destination is as unusual as the directions. A small village roughly 45 minutes from the town of Maun, Tsutsubega has a San name meaning Place of the Emerald Spotted Dove. This gentle little bird frequents many a tree branch in these parts and is known in twitching circles as King of the Blues thanks to its mournful call. My grandmother, an avid birder, taught me how to remember its unmistakable song using this solemn rhyme: “My father’s dead, my mother’s dead, oh oh oh…” Although Tsutsubega village is named for the sombre ballad, it certainly contradicts its namesake on this particular weekend. Or maybe the doves sing a different rhyme – “Dancing ahead, dancing ahead, oh oh oh” – when, once a year, revellers are welcomed to this precious corner of the Okavango Delta.
Just beyond Tsutsubega village lies the forested oasis of Festival Island. It’s the end of August, when the Okavango Delta is flooded, so the island usually sits encircled by lily-laden waters. Drought, however, is visiting Botswana. Water levels at the UNESCO World Heritage Site are dependent on the annual rainfall received at the source, thousands of kilometres away in the central highlands of Angola.
Just like the would-be water, we’ve travelled a fair distance to be here – roughly 1,300 kilometres from our home city of Johannesburg in neighbouring South Africa. After checking in at the ticket office, which has been decked out with colourful skulls and handmade fabric bunting and is home to several sleeping pups, we cross one last stretch of sand to set up camp at the edge of Festival Island. It overlooks a dusty, rather than damp floodplain, but the dry conditions haven’t put anybody off.
Established in 2018, the Okavango Delta Music Festival is a three-day affair of live music and vibey DJ sets operating as sustainably as possible in this delicate wilderness area. In its first year, the festival entertained 500 guests, but in 2019 the ticket sales nearly doubled, hitting 900. With tents erected, we set our sights on the festival grounds to meet Jay Roode, one of the devoted organisers. “Last year was all about mokoro,” he says. “We had members of the community pole people across the floodplain to the island in a traditional dugout canoe, but this time we offer a different kind of local transport.” In this part of the country donkey carts provide daily mobility for many locals. Now freshly painted and embellished with flowers, the stylish carriages make for a memorable entrance. It’s just one of the ways this event was arranged to benefit its hosts.
After cooing over the doleful donkeys, I follow Jay to the dance floor. It’s a modest square covered with natural fibre rugs laid down in a bid to quell any dust being kicked up during dancing. The open-air stage is impressive and sits beneath towering leadwood, jackalberry and sausage trees. Bringing the speakers and sound equipment through all that sand from Maun was a logistical nightmare, Jay tells me, but it’s quickly forgotten as golden-hour light ushers in the first act.
The music selection for the festival is purposefully diverse. “We prefer our stars in the sky,” Jay says, smiling. This is not to say the artist line-up isn’t excellent. Quite the contrary; the performers are just not the regular headline acts. “We wanted to provide a platform to different artists, and stand by a strong African focus.” I recognise only one name from the line-up, South African Afro-folk favourite Bongeziwe Mabandla, but he’s not due to have his time in the spotlight until tomorrow. For now, I throw my arms up and find my feet a-flutter joining the audience in jamming to the playful beats and sanguine sounds of Zimbabwean musician So Kindly. (I also make a mental note to add their spice to my Spotify playlist once back home.)
Botswana is one of the least crowded countries in the world, with just 3.5 people per square kilometre, and it’s echoed here. There’s plenty of room on Festival Island. I look across the crowd. No matter race or age, everyone has breathing space. So much so that when the artists leave the stage, they join the party. Tomeletso Sereetsi, who hails from Botswana and performs as Sereetsi & the Natives, is one such merry-maker. “It’s awesome how the festival unites people from all over Southern Africa and beyond, both black and white,” he says. “That’s the often understated power of music and festivals.”
He’s right. There’s an intimacy to this event, and it’s further proved when I cross paths with another popular Botswana act on the dancefloor. Mpho Sebina describes her genre as ethereal soul, citing Sade, Bob Marley and Brenda Fassie as primary influences. She asks me to come watch her sing the next morning – “It’s an early slot, so I’m gathering a company” – although she really needn’t have worried. “I’ve already told my friends about this festival,” she continues.
“There are so many music acts from different parts of the continent, yoga, delicious drinks, and there is a spirit of oneness at the festival. Plus, the most scenic surroundings.”
Bands of children skip between us as we dance, invariably marching to their own drumbeat. Their beaming faces are coated with big-cat markings, painted by members of Cheetah Conservation Botswana. I laugh out loud when Mpho tells me her weirdest festival moment so far: “This guy was carrying his daughter – she must have been just five months – and she was stark naked, and it was beautiful how free she was. Then she pooped on her dad.” According to Freedom House, an NGO that researches and advocates political freedoms, there are just eight African countries that can be described as free. Botswana is one of them, and it feels especially present at the festival.
Sophie Dandridge and her husband Adrian are the festival directors, but their involvement is deeply rooted. They live nearby, within the Tsutsubega area. “Adrian and I have been involved with this community since he first moved here about 10 years ago,” Sophie tells me. The village is home to roughly 500 people, and almost half of the local community is trained then employed by the annual festival.
Even though it’s only for a weekend, through their ‘party-cipation’ all festival attendees help provide employment and encouragement to this remote outpost. After the first event in 2018, proceeds funded a reliable borehole and solar pump for Tsutsubega, providing drinking water for people and their livestock. With a large section of the delta enduring drought and floodwaters sitting scarily short of the normal range, it’s a crucial contribution.
It’s just the first day, but many of the new friends I make agree the Okavango Delta Music Festival is the antithesis of most commercial festivals. Sure, this event is about music (my feet sure feel the beat), but it’s also so much more. The festival and its intrepid organisers provide a much-needed alternative to Botswana’s mainstream safari sightseeing and bring tourism to marginal areas. I can’t help but think about the driving directions again, only this time they ring a lot more like life advice. When faced with a fork in the road, keep left.
Slightly north of the town of Dahab, you’ll come across this popular dive site in the Red Sea. Even if there wasn’t a cluster of buildings on the stretch of beach that meets the desert announcing you’d arrived, you’d still notice it on approach. Just metres off the shore and surrounded by a shallow reef, this is one patch of seriously royal blue.
The reason for the eye-catching change of colour is an underwater sinkhole more than a hundred metres deep. There’s an abundance of coral and marine life on the walls of the hole, making it a very inviting spot for divers and snorkellers. But don’t be fooled by the calm conditions if you’ve strapped a tank to your back. Plenty of divers have come unstuck here, trying to go far deeper than they should to find the underwater arch that leads to the open ocean.
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