We started our New Year’s under a starlit sky in Citrusdal. Some of us stood in the pool, others lay scattered between the terrace and the steps, laughter carrying the warm, quiet promise of the first morning of the year.
“In this terrifying world, we are nothing but the connections we make.”
One among a few pearls of wisdom in the dark, satirical Netflix animation, Bojack Horseman. Let the source not detract from the message.
Thanks to some insistent planning from certain people – I can take very little credit, outside of being eager – and a great deal of commitment from everyone far in advance, our friend group managed to wrap the past year up in the company of those who mean the most. Some were enjoying their first New Year’s back in Cape Town after lengthy spells living and working overseas, others had limited time in South Africa but had made time for the three days we spent out of town. Many were seeing out a year that had been as hard as it had been fruitful, and at the foothills of the Cederberg mountains, everyone entered the year smiling – in a quiet acknowledgement of what had passed, and what was to come.
The guesthouse/goldmine that we managed to book is called Harpuis, the biggest of nine beautiful properties situated in the Wolfkop Nature Reserve in Citrusdal. The house accommodates 10 guests, with five bedrooms, five bathrooms and plenty of extra space. The open-plan kitchen, living room and braai area lend the inside of the house a very social atmosphere, but the main attraction – at least during the peak of summer – is the expansive deck and splash pool that watches over the Oliphants River Valley below.
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Harpuis’ privacy is a major pull factor, as is the comfort of rustic luxury at the foot of a mountain range. One is removed enough to enjoy the pleasure of isolation, but still cared for by the comfort of high-quality linen, airconditioning and an incredibly impressive fridge. Not many places that host big groups ever seem to have enough fridge space. Not Harpuis, thanks to an industrial-style double-door beast.
In an ideal world, we would have spent a week tucked up on the low slopes of the mountain, but three days still afforded enough time, on either side of the New Year, to enjoy a spectrum of activity. A lot of time was spent lounging around; it was necessary and a welcome reprieve from the action of the year. Various trails start near Harpuis, and on the final morning of the year, we hiked for a bit before deciding to gallop the last kilometre back, steaming off the trail, through the house and into the pool. And then, like magic, a pint glass full of amber appeared in our hands. The same friend who had pushed so hard to organise this trip had also managed to find someone locally who imports our favourite beer, from the oldest brewery in the world in Bavaria, Germany. A portable tap system and a keg meant that 30 litres of the finest Weissbier in the world fed the group for three days.
Between swimming, reading, dozing, and chatting, we feasted like royalty. Each year it gets easier to go away: People pull more weight, are better organised and communicate their expectations ahead of time. With every meal centred on the braai, a roster was created for certain people to make the sides each day, the result being interesting, varied spreads at every meal, and a great deal of appreciation for each other’s efforts. Most lunches and dinners took place on the porch, with the big dining table pushed up next to an extra camping one and flower and fynbos assortments artfully squeezed into empty bottles to decorate the tablecloth.
Community and connection are a driving life force, and to have friends who fill that cup is a privilege I never underestimate. But to be able to take the conversations of everyday to somewhere as beautiful as where we spent New Year’s is a layer of luck added to the blessing of friendship. Lazing in the pool, as super clouds spill through blue skies and the heat sits thick on the valley below, one appreciates the people and places that expand beauty in this terrifying world.
Images: Oliver Keohane
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