We had been on the road for 10 hours by the time we pulled in at Thonga Beach Lodge. First were the nine hours of trucks, stop-and-gos, cows and some of the best potholes (read craters) KwaZulu-Natal has to offer. And just when we thought our ordeal was over, there was another hour powering over dirt roads and through wild east coast jungle.
We tumbled out of the 4x4 that delivered us through the thicket weary, dirty and just a little shell-shocked.
And there they were: a line-up of crisp uniforms and broad grins.
“Kristen?” asked one of the grins, offering me a hand.
“Christopher?” asked the other of my colleague.
They caught each other’s eye and stifled a laugh. This would later become the joke of our stay, both staff and other guests calling out “Chris and Kris!” whenever they saw us.
Meanwhile, my luggage had been magicked away. A glass of home-made lemonade had somehow found its way into my hand.
It was strange, jarring even, after our trek from Gauteng to this point, about 20km north of Sodwana Bay.
Words washed over me like waves – scuba-diving, snorkelling, canoeing, sundowners, turtle tracking – as the different activities were listed by impossibly tanned young things with names like Zack and Devon and Warrick, all lazy beach drawls, smiles and salt-flecked hair.
At that moment, however, all I wanted was a drink or a nap – whichever came first.
My room was ready and waiting, the bed centre stage with its canopy of mosquito netting. The colours indoors reflected the landscape outside: sandy browns, crisp white and splashes of green, like a dash of lime in a beachside cocktail.
There are 12 comfortable suites perching on stilts among the milkwood trees. The sea views of some of them have become obscured by the forest, as Thonga is in a World Heritage site, the iSimangaliso Wetland Park, and they are not allowed to cut down or prune any trees.
In the en-suite, the overgrown forest surrounded a windowed shower and a deep stone bath beckoned me with promises of bubbles and candles.
The bath water proved to be lukewarm, though, the lodge being eco-friendly. I would later rectify the problem by acquiring a sunburn that would turn even the most tepid shower into a scalding experience.
Rest, however, was not an option – not yet, anyway.
The east coast is famous for its leatherback and loggerhead turtles, which return each year to the beach of their birth to lay their eggs. The babies were due to hatch and I was determined to find them.
Easier said than done.
For nearly two hours, our guide Zack scoured the moonlit coast for the tiny hatchlings’ tracks.
The guests had just resorted to comments of forced cheerfulness about how “it wouldn’t be such a disappointment if we don’t find anything” when Zack brought the 4x4 to an abrupt halt.
“All right, we’ve got some hatchlings!” he said, grabbing his torch. “Just watch where you stand – one step could kill them.”
Oh, yes, had he mentioned that they’re protected species?
We tiptoed about, trying to distinguish shadow from baby turtle.
And then there he was – a tiny loggerhead, about 5cm long, spotlit by Zack’s torch.
“I’ve found another one!” shouted a guest.
“And another!”
“And another!”
All around us, the hatchlings dug through the sand, one flailing flipper at a time, straining towards the white foam of the Indian Ocean.
The guests dropped to their knees, digging little pathways where the turtlets seemed stuck.
“Don’t help the little dudes too much,” warned Zack. “This first walk is important. It creates the turtle’s bond with the beach.”
So we stood by and cheered like parents at a rugby match, shouting, “Keep going, little dude!” until the waves hit them and pulled them into the sea.
After the night’s adventures and an invigorating morning of snorkelling, the next day turned into an exercise in indulgence, helped along by a bar service from 10am and a permanent cake stand.
In-between mouthfuls of cream and berry cake and the lodge’s signature African martini, the resident beauty therapist treated me to a back massage. And yes, I may have fallen asleep on the massage table for a minute or three before heading back to the beach.
A surprise afternoon rain shower sent the guests running for cover. Even so, we sat under the bar lapa, drinking and trading stories from around the world – the English surgeon newlyweds, celebrating their honeymoon; the Dutch fashionista, showing off her handmade Italian boots; the blonde Swedes, stripping topless in their airy, nonchalant manner.
From behind the bar, Njabs taught them Zulu phrases and told them about Mabibi village just five minutes away, where most of the staff grew up. He knew every guest’s name and just how they liked their drinks.
“Chris and Kris! A beer and an African martini, crushed ice?”
It’s a warmth that flowed right from the top, with managers Bev and Kevin stopping by between courses at dinner, chatting to each guest individually.
But even as the last bit of daylight slipped lazily below the horizon, we were already being whisked away to continue our turtle hunt, desperate to see a giant leatherback before returning home.
And this, if anything, is Thonga’s one fault: with a full day’s drive just getting there and another to get back, a stay of anything less than three, dedicated beach days just doesn’t do this isolated spot and all it has to offer any justice.
We didn’t see any turtles on that last night at Thonga, but, to be honest, it hardly mattered.
Instead, we stopped the car and made camp, sipping Amarula-infused hot chocolate as we listened to the roar of the sea, watched the moonlight bouncing off the water, pointed out constellations and shared half-remembered stories about Orion and Hercules and gods and men.
And as we rolled over the highways of Joburg late the next evening, my heart was still on those warm dunes, in those wild waves, under that full moon.
l For rates and info, call Isibindi Africa at 035 474 1473, e-mail [email protected] or visit www.isibindiafrica.co.za - The Star