Where the Wildflowers Grow - Ode to Joy In a big city, say the size of London or New York, the changing of the seasons is not as obvious as it is to someone living in the countryside. A city dweller might note that, after a long, dreary winter, the sun rises earlier and there is no longer the need for an overcoat. To him, this means spring has arrived. But nowhere on earth is the arrival of spring quite as visible as in the Cape hinterland, that vast and gnarled landscape stretching from the west coast to the mountain ranges in the east. Sometime towards the end of August, approximately two weeks after the last good rains, the first wild flowers appear. They spring up overnight and, where the day before there was nothing, now there is a wave of orange-coloured daisies rolling across the landscape. And so a farmer might stop off at his local cooperative, announcing that he’s spotted the first of the spring flowers along the way, only to learn - somewhat peeved - that someone else had an even better sighting an hour before. Reports of the first sighting of wildflowers is keenly awaited by people in these parts and flower spotting has taken on the dimension of a national sport. This is not surprising, since it is an events of great magnitude. It draws everyone in, it affects the lives of all - albeit briefly - because the spring flowers will attract wave upon wave of tourist until the bloom of spring begins to fade. In this semi-desert area, tourism provides a livelihood for many, and tourists come from all over the world to witness what has become known as a ‘show’. The name is apt. It is as if, overnight, nature has developed a terrible vanity, and has stooped to showing off. And this spectacle of variegated flowers has moved grown men to tears. So triumphant is the coming of spring, and so emphatic the beauty that it imposes on the landscape that one imagines it was something of this nature, something equally rapturous, that inspired Beethoven to compose his Ode to Joy. Legends has it that when God created this landscape he did so in anger, but then the angels relented and bestowed on it diamonds and flowers ... wild flowers, the likes of which have not been seen anywhere in the world. It’s not all that peachy being a tour guide here, though. Everything depends on the weather: Good rains mean a successful tourist season. But it doesn’t rain everywhere at once - that’s the difficult part - and the flower spring up with frustrating randomness. The result is that a huge intelligence-gathering network has developed with the sole purpose of reporting on the latest sightings of flowers. When this information is relayed to the tourist information centres, everyone sets off in hot pursuit to glimpse the latest “show”. Rarely, perhaps, does so much frenetic activity revolve around something as fragile as a flower’s bloom. And perhaps because of its transitory nature, the experience is all the more unforgettable. The Flower Route covers a vast area and is divided into five major regions: the Sandveld, West Coast, Olifants River, Namaqualand and the Hantam Karoo. The starting point for tourists arriving from abroad is Cape Town, of course, because of its international airport. It is impossible to describe all that these regions have to offer. But a good direction to follow is to travel along the coast from Cape Town to Lambert’s Bay or Eland Bay, a mere two-and-a-half hour’s drive away. Along the coast you will find Muisbosskerm, outside Lamberts Bay, a rustic and very popular restaurant where you can enjoy the most delicious seafood, most notably crayfish. This is served within sight of the ocean. The chances are you’ll spot a whale or two along this wonderful and scenic coastal drive. Then cut back inland to Citrusdal, or Clanwilliam which is nicely situated, more or less in the centre of the flower route. Along this road, you will discover field upon field of daisies and Bokbaai vygies as well as white sôe, purple vygies, perdeblomme, dassiegousblom, perde-en-hongerblomme and harpuis bushes; as well as proteas and fynbos (fine or delicate bush, unique to the Cape). I must emphasise that, although spectacular, it is not a cracker-jack show. There is not a surprise a minute, but those who are patient will be rewarded with something breathtaking. I suggest a five-day trip, adding two days for good measure. It is a landscape that unfolds itself slowly, and the flowers can best be appreciated at close quarters. This means taking a leisurely stroll in amongst them. Take a picnic basket along with a bottle of well-chilled white wine, and don’t forget a blanket. Once again, the axiom seems to apply: the more one knows about something, the more interesting it becomes. The macro climates of the areas differ widely, as does each micro-climate. Some of the seeds will wait patiently for the right climatic conditions before they germinate - sometimes for many long years. There are so many guides to the wild flowers of the Cape, it is bewildering. Which is best? A series which consist of a book per region is available at most of the book shops. These veld guides unusually have photos and sketches on one side and a very good description of the flowers on the opposite page. But it is advisable to order well in advance. Contact the book shop at the Botanical Institute in Kirstenbosch. When I travelled along the flower route, I made Calvinia my final destination before returning to Cape Town. I stayed overnight in one of the historical homesteads, now functioning as a guest house. It is called the “Knegtekamer”, which formerly served as slave quarters but has been restored by Dr Erwin Coetzee and his willowy wife, Alta, with almost religious attention to detail. During my brief sojourn there, I discovered that Calvinia is a town curiously preoccupied with eating. Nothing wrong with that, of course. The French have been doing it for centuries. At the Karoo Boekehuis (a house dedicated to collecting and preserving indigenous literature), I discovered the most dazzling dishes. The menu included a starter of tamarind flavoured hawthorn soup and dumpling, and - a tremendously long way down the menu - a dish of roasted porcupine hide with Kambro. (Back in Cape Town, when I tried to deconstruct what I had eaten, I consulted my dictionary and discovered this to be an indigenous herb.) But roasted porcupine hide ... now here was something! Rather incautiously I ordered it. I can be forgiven though. I was feeling intoxicated. Not from the fine Fleur du Cap Cabernet Sauvignon which Erwin produced from his cellar, but from flowers, and yet again flowers. - Back -    - Menu -    - Contact -