The sun, in that unhurried way heaved itself above the horizon, spilling golden light over Cape Town’s jagged silhouette

 

Cape Town

The sun, in that unhurried way heaved itself above the horizon, spilling golden light over Cape Town’s jagged silhouette

Table Mountain looming like a drowsing giant, the city below still shaking off the chilled morning air.

Along the waterfront, the air carried the briny perfume of the local fish market, a fragrance so insistently maritime.

The scent wove its way through the docks, curling around the mooring lines and skimming over the water until it reached the Glorious Queen Anne. 

Here she sits, tethered to the dock with the quiet dignity of an aristocrat waiting to disgorge its enthusiastic world travellers into the expectant morning of excitement.

Cape Town a wine tour to remember, possibly 

The earlyish morning found our little group winding its way through the ship’s hushed corridors, blissfully serene after the initial frenzy of passengers scrambling to board their Cunard tours.

Our party convened in our favourite pre-excursion rendezvous point, the Corinthian Lounge, yet not for breakfast. That particular ritual had already been experienced much earlier, amidst the throng of passengers who treat the morning buffet like a competitive sport. 

There is a special kind of urgency among cruise ship early risers. You can feel the  tension as they dart between food stations, piling their plates high as if fearing some imminent catastrophe. Many, I noticed, were engaged in the cruise tradition of buffet-hoarding, stuffing their stomachs (and occasionally their handbags) with enough extra provisions to sustain them through even the most gruelling of coach journeys.  

Our own appetites, however, had been carefully moderated in preparation for the day’s main event: a self-arranged wine tour through the sun-drenched vineyards of South Africa.  A full-day, privately booked extravaganza, promising a deluge of fine vintages and, if we were lucky, just enough self-control to prevent us from staggering back to the ship in a happy, grape-stained stupor later that evening.

Our guide, a man named Basil, who was due to meet us at the cruise port entrance at the civilised hour of 10 a.m. No pre-dawn muster for us, no frantic gulping of coffee while squinting at a clipboard. This was touring done properly.  

There was, however, one minor hiccup. That morning, an announcement crackled over the ship’s PA system, cheerfully informing passengers that a shuttle service would be provided to the port gates, strongly implying that the distance was so vast that attempting the journey without boarding an airconditioned bus would be an act of folly. Panic briefly flared. A quick consultation with Google Maps suggested a drive time of 25 minutes, which seemed absurd given that we were, to all appearances, already in the port.

Fortunately, upon disembarking, the truth revealed itself. The walk to the meeting point was a leisurely five-minute amble, hardly the epic trek the announcement had suggested.

I mopped the perspiration from my brow, allowed my heart rate to settle back into something resembling a normal rhythm, and silently cursed the cruise line’s flair for melodrama.  

And yet, even with only a small group to coordinate, it seemed as if we were trying to herd a hoard of cats.

No sooner had we regrouped than one couple, acting on some mysterious instinct, bounded onto the waiting shuttle. Mercifully, they realised their error just in time, leaping back onto solid ground moments before the doors hissed shut and the bus lurched away into the chaos of port traffic.  

And so, with all present and accounted for, no stragglers, no mysteriously absent members, we stood in the mild Cape sunshine, waiting for our guide. Being hassled by Uber drivers looking for some mysterious passenger with an unpronounceable name. 

Fortunately not for long, as it turned out. In what felt like seconds, we were hurled onto the frenetic  action of Highway 1, whisked past the gleaming expanse of Century City, a place of all glass fronted hotels, identikit apartments, and shopping centres designed to soothe the masses fleeing Cape Towns hubbub.  

Our destination? The vineyards of Paarl, and our first stop: Fairview Winery. 

Majestic mountains loomed in the distance like a theatrical backdrop. Pockets of lavender, paddocks full of almond trees, and of course, acres of vines.

The tasting experience was a pairing of wine and cheese, all produced on-site. 

Our guide through this wonderland was Wayne, big John to his friends. A unassuming master of his art, a sommelier of such effortless expertise that he could probably identify a grape varietal by smell alone. We sampled six wines, reds, whites, and something in between, each matched with cheeses that, by the third glass, tasted like something from heaven.  

We ultimately left staggering under the weight of our purchases, the minibus sagging ominously as we clambered aboard.

Next stop: Franschhoek Cellar for lunch. The food was excellent, the wine matched perfectly.

The setting, however, was rather more rustic. By which I mean it looked as though the decorator had been given a brief that simply read: Think “farmhouse,” but with less charm. (Two years prior, we had lunched at Fairview after our tasting, a far more civilised affair and not a single whiff of barnyard ambiance.)  

A brief, obligatory stop for retail therapy followed, because no wine tour is complete without the acquisition of at least one expensive trinket and a handful of rings that seemed like a good idea at the time.  

Then it was onward to La Bri, the undisputed favourite of the ladies in our group, though, to be fair, any establishment that pairs wine with handmade chocolates is going to win universal approval. Each chocolate had been engineered (or so we were told) to complement a specific wine, a concept so dangerously delightful that resistance was futile. By the time we piled back into the minibus, it was a wonder the wheels didn’t buckle under the combined weight of our haul, cases of wine, boxes of chocolates.

By this stage, the mood aboard the vehicle had taken on a distinctly mellow quality. We were, to put it scientifically, relaxed to the core. A faint but perceptible haze of alcoholic contentment hung in the air, so thick, in fact, that I half-expected the driver to slump over the wheel, overcome by sheer alcohol osmosis.  

Our final stop was Stellenbosch, the university town that manages to be both quaint and lively in equal measure. With 50,000 students propping up its economy.

The place hummed with youthful energy, its streets a pleasing jumble of historic Cape Dutch architecture and sleek modern buildings. The restaurants here exuded an air of expensive sophistication, the kind where the menu doesn’t list prices, because if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.  

And so, as the sun dipped behind the Stellenbosch mountains, we rolled back towards Cape Town, slightly heavier in both luggage and spirit, our livers issuing a quiet but firm protest. It had been a day of indulgence and scenic splendour.

Realistically the kind of excess that makes you swear to stop drinking forever, or at least until tomorrow.

For bookings or more information check out the following web site:

Full day group tour | Wine Tours South Africa

R1640 per person • 10% discount for website bookings • no promotion code required

Price includes tastings & entries & lunch • chocolate & wine pairing • cheese & wine pairing • first class restaurant lunch • lunch includes wine • cellar tour • champagne • professional wine guide • small group • 12 guests

Price excludes wine purchases & gratuities

Restaurant lunch at Franschhoek Cellar • included

Individual travelers welcome

Minimum age 18 years

Follow me on my trip ‘Queen Anne world cruise’ at

https://www.polarsteps.com/PhilipParker1/15755884-queen-anne-world-cruise?s=301670E5-79DF-4AD1-8CA3-F5A92841FACA

http://bestpeptravels.blogspot.com/

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