Bartholomeaus



 

Sometimes one just finds a refuge, where everything just seems like goodness. It all just seems to part of a natural rhythm of honesty, warmth, happiness and being real.

This for me, was Bartholomeus Klip.

 

It was a whole lot of things that made this little lodge in the middle of nowhere perfect. It was a working farm with an elegant rusticness that balanced the natural perfection of everything. The food, the staff, most of which have lived on the farm their entire lives, the beautiful room, with a free-standing bath on claws and a wrap around veranda, the smell of fresh linen mixed with cut lawn and brewed coffee.

 

It was being spoilt to the stillness of the night, mixed with the crowing of the cockerels in the morning. The beautiful bird life, the opportunity to cycle through a reserve dotted with Zebra and numerous grazers and the chance to wake up and load a canoe with coffee and rusks just to float on an expansive dam that was pierced only with fish coming to the surface.

 

We had late morning breakfasts around tables brimming with home-made muesli and stewed fruits, we had late afternoon teas, with Melk-Tert and scones after afternoon snoozes and long lazy reads.

Dinner was a delight of tastes and wine and was an end off to a day that filled the gap that was left by the evening game drive and the long gay's heat.

 

This little working farm sanctuary has got to be one of the best places I have been to in a long time, sometimes nothing can top the honesty and elegance of pure simple farm luxury.

All images by me

See more on Bartholomeus Klip here