For each of the last five years I have blocked out two clear weeks in my diary in November to make space for a proper holiday. And each year it’s been whittled away – (I’m going to mostly, but not entirely fairly, blame Dave) – until we’ve been left with three nights, two days and a long drive either end to somewhere windy, wet and barely above freezing. Top destinations in recent years have include the Llyn Peninsula (North Wales), Christchurch (Dorset) and the lovely, if foggy, Langdale valley (Cumbria).

But I was 50 earlier this autumn and in a moment of wonderfully romantic exuberance, Dave promised me a fortnight in South Africa. There were witnesses. So we left cool, rainy Manchester behind one November evening and flew south through a long night, watching on the little screen as the plane inched down that marvellous graphic of the sun’s curved light and shade pattern on an oddly rectangular planet. We dropped through the southern sky and into Africa as the sun rose.

We’d seen snatches of the South Africa v. Australia test match the week before, played at the Newlands, with the sun blazing in a hot blue sky over Table Mountain. I packed one fleece. But this is Cape Town and the weather is nothing if not fickle, and we landed in exactly the weather we left behind – 11C and raining. The same, but most assuredly not the same.

(Bear with me for a minute or two longer. I assure you we’ll be back to plants in no time…).  Let’s be frank. The details of other people’s holidays are always a little dull and faintly depressing. Photos of slightly sunburned people smiling maniacally into the camera with some lesser known monument over their shoulder accompanied by enthusiastic, lengthy tales about people you’ve never heard of and they will probably never see again, all enjoying themselves hugely while you were working. So, I shall spare you the details and give you the potted summary.

We were sandblasted in a gale at Cape Point. (The picture above is not quite Cape Point, which is a little less scenic than this nearby view). We passed a group of bikers on Harleys n the Cape Reserve coast road with an ostrich in hot pursuit. We admired the posh yachts in the smart new V&A Waterfront and the huge moray eel in the aquarium. We ate and drank like royalty for not very much money. We slept wonderfully as long as the curtains were heavy and blocked out the blazing morning sun. We almost lost a borrowed canoe in a sudden storm on a lagoon in Wilderness. We didn’t see whales or swim in the sea (too late for the former and too windy and wild for the latter). Neither did we visit the much lauded Stellenbosch. We just couldn’t be bothered with all that restauranting. The Cape is rich, poor, beautiful, energetic, enterprising, struggling, young, optimistic, threatened, scenic, windy, proud, welcoming and astonishingly westernised. I loved it.

There. That’s the holiday basics dealt with. But there are some proper treats I want to share with you – knowing that my audience here is largely of a horticultural leaning. The Cape, as plant devotees there are keen to tell you, is home to one of of the world’s seven distinct major floras, and by far the smallest. (Most of the northern hemisphere above 40deg North is all defined as one flora, so you get the picture).

So, emboldened by Dave’s developing interest in plant-shaped things, we did a bit of plant-spotting on our travels. By the end of the fortnight he could tell his Leucospermums from his Leucodendrons and had actually stopped by the side of the road twice to let me hop out and snap something that had caught my eye.  Of course we visited Kirstenbosch (twice),  the Cape’s famous botanic garden. We bought a couple of wildflower identification books and tried to make sense of a totally unfamiliar plant world. Call it a busman’s if you like. But it’s in my blood now. Seeing plants that are new to me just makes me happy.

So here you go. A few choice shots from Kirstenbosch to get you started.
Just a few from the Protea family. So much more to come…

A close-up of a King Protea in Kirstenbosch. We searched for these, finally concluding that we’d missed the season before following the song of a sugar bird and finding them close by.

A perfect King Protea. It’s the size of a man’s two cupped hands.

Leucadendron discolor. I love the waxy, greenish-lemon petals of this cone flower.

Leucanthemum catherinae.
So named for its resemblance to a catherine wheel firework when viewed from above. I preferred it from this angle.

Stunning Leucospermum reflexum. There’s a pretty yellow version too.

You get the picture. Just a small selection of the stunning plants that greet you at every turn. Plant porn, if you wish. Or as I prefer it, essential research in an area of huge personal interest……

But what makes Kirstenbosch so special isn’t just the plants. It’s the setting.

Look up, and every plant is framed by the back of Table Mountain. You can simply walk out of the garden up into the wild Fynbos area that inspired it and to the top of the mountain if you choose…..

….or look down and you see across Cape Town’s suburbs to the mountains beyond and to Table Bay. Everywhere there is a view. Every picture has a frame.

That’ll have to do for now. Back with a bit more from the Fynbos in a few days……

Well almost all for now anyway. This is the plant nursery at Kirstenbosch. We almost missed it as you have to walk through the gift shop to get to it. But it is surely the most lip-smacking nursery on the planet, stuffed with plants which are only found in the wild within a few miles of its doors.

Yes we bought some protea seeds and the necessary smoke papers to grow them on. Yes, I know it is futile but I really don’t care. No, we won’t ever get them to grow in the garden but it will be fun trying.

And finally, truly finally, there was a stunning display of sculpture in the garden under the collective title ‘Untamed’. I was wowed.

December 2, 2011