Safari, sunsets and a legendary cat: a journey through South Africa

It's my first time in Africa, and I'm face to face with a big cat.

He's approaching fast, gaze steely, gait regal. This is his territory. What will he do?

To my immense relief, he winds around my ankles, purrs, and flops onto his back. I tickle him behind the ears.

Skabenga is resident tabby at Durban's opulent The Oyster Box hotel. He likes to welcome guests in the grand lobby - when he isn't reclining by the seafront pool or basking on a chaise beneath glittering chandeliers.

He's not the lion I'm in South Africa to see, but their shared DNA is obvious. Nineteen years ago, this stray strode from the streets into the city's most illustrious residence as if he owned it. Ever since, Skabenga (isiZulu for 'vagabond') has ruled the hotel in digs fit for a king.

A grand dame in wedding cake white on the clifftop in Durban's affluent resort suburb Umhlanga, The Oyster Box presides over the Indian Ocean with all the aplomb of its own red-capped doormen.

Their immaculate white uniforms with red sashes introduce the hotel's ubiquitous red-and-white palette and its muse: historic Umhlanga Lighthouse on the rocks out front.

This red-topped landmark, beaming out to sailors since 1863, completes a scene so pretty you can't help but smile: poolside lounges and parasols in candy cane red-and-white stripes, bright and crisp against the blue, like a painted storybook picture.

Although golden Umhlanga beach is far from lion habitat, seaside-to-safari is a popular option in South Africa, where stunning coastlines and rugged interior are close enough to combine within as little as a week.

A stay here makes for a fabulous curtain-raiser to your safari main event, piling on the atmosphere with champagne breakfasts on the Ocean Terrace, staff in pearls, and spectacular African sunsets tinting the ocean pink, as if those jaunty red stripes were melting into the water.

We drive just an hour out of Durban for a day trip to Tala Game Reserve. At 3000 hectares, it's a dot compared to famous Big Five reserves here in the south-east's KwaZulu Natal province. But the delight is in the detail.

Too small for lions or other large predators, Tala's a chilled-out ecosystem and its residents are unafraid. Giraffes saunter right up to our vehicle, so close we can almost count their long eyelashes.

We spot a hippo basking in the dam and our guide, Lonely, reminds us that these deceptively docile-looking giants are one of the main reasons we remain inside the vehicle. Territorial and notoriously irascible, the world's deadliest large land mammal can overpower a croc, lion or unwary human. "Their bite has three times the force of a lion's jaws," says Lonely.

He's a walking wildlife encyclopedia and his name follows a Zulu tradition for naming babies to reflect circumstances at the time of their birth. "My mum was lonely," he says, simply.

We encounter Juliet, a southern white rhino with her baby in tow. A couple of months old and barely bigger than his mother's imposing head, he peers shyly at us from between her front legs.

Immediately, we notice two things: an armed bodyguard watching the pair closely from a nearby shelter, and Juliet's missing horn. Both are an unfortunate necessity, explains Lonely. Rhinos are still ruthlessly targeted for their horns by poachers. It's estimated that at least one rhino is killed in South Africa every day.

Tala's armed patrols operate 24/7, and the rhinos are dehorned every 19 months (horns, like fingernails, grow back). Visitors can pay to observe the painless procedure, with funds ploughed back into rhino protection.

There's something desperately sad about seeing these magnificent beasts without their famous feature. But it's one of few defences against a relentless massacre that's seen the world's rhino population plummet from 500,000 at the start of the 20th century to a sparse 28,000 today.

The haunting vision lingers as we fly westwards to Cape Town to venture deeper into the wild.

Three hours north from Cape Town, on the approach to the Cederberg Mountains, wheatfields and citrus groves give way to sprawling plains crowned by eerily beautiful sandstone formations. The more you gaze, the more you see; monsters, castles, faces, all hewn by time and the elements.

We are in the cradle of humanity, where the planet's earliest known homo sapiens hunted and gathered in the evergreen fynbos ("fine bush") of the Cape Floral Kingdom. This 90,000-kilometre swathe of South Africa's Western Cape nurtures 9600 plant species - the highest concentration on the planet, and three times as many as the Amazon rainforest.

Bushmans Kloof Wilderness Reserve and Wellness Retreat occupies 7500 hectares of jagged peaks, plunging ravines, rivers and rock pools. It's a luxury hideaway with a sumptuous spa, but also a conservation success story.

The former farmland now flourishes in its natural state after 25 years of diligent rewilding with indigenous flora and fauna such as the endangered Cape mountain zebra, Cape clawless otter and Clanwilliam yellowfish, along with at least 200 further animal species,150 bird species and 755 fynbos plant species.

There's no Big Five here, but their absence allows you to immerse in the landscape on foot, by bike, swimming or paddling a kayak, safe in the knowledge you're on nobody's menu. "It's one of the special pleasures here, spending time alone in nature," says general manager Gerhard Thom. "You notice so much."

He's right. The peace awakens your senses to smaller wonders; layer upon layer of life, and dramas playing out up close.

I'm captivated by the banana-hued weaver birds in the acacia beside my luxury thatched cottage. Their spherical nests hang from branches like lampshades, each constructed painstakingly by its male master builder, and literally a labour of love. If the nest fails to impress a female, the rejected architect will destroy his masterpiece and start over. Every day I check to see who's winning this avian renovation reality show.

On a dawn drive across the plains on peach-hued sandy tracks, a Cape Mountain zebra mother emerges from the scrub with her baby wobbling behind. "He's very new," says our guide, Byron, pointing out the little one's umbilical cord still attached.

Every birth in this zebra species is precious. Bushmans Kloof has been instrumental in bringing them back from the brink of extinction and now nurtures one of the world's largest herds.

After each day's adventures, guides Tristan and Nash magic up al fresco mobile bars with more accoutrements than a city cocktail joint, beneath trees or beside rivers, and we toast nature with the classic safari sundowner. To us it's an old tradition, but we're newcomers on this land. Across the reserve, 130 ancient rock art sites trace the history of the San people - the "bushmen". Their paintings are the last remnant of a lost way of life linking back to humanity's origins, says resident expert Lundi.

The San evolved in southern Africa, occupying it exclusively for at least 100,000 years.

In a cave known as Fallen Rock Shelter, most likely a dwelling place, red ochre paintings cover a 10-metre wall: women, men, elephants and a tall, stretch-limbed figure, possibly a shaman. They're vivid, and startlingly intimate - a direct connection across millennia. The world's first people feel close enough to touch.

At sunset on our last night at Bushmans Kloof, the past reaches out again as we round a bend in the russet trail and see distant figures dancing on the plain, kicking up dust clouds. They're boys and girls from nearby Elizabeth Fontein Primary School, and national champions in riel dans, one of the oldest dance forms in Southern Africa.

The children's frenetic footwork has its origins in the ancient fireside rituals of the San, but with the music's high-energy beats and infectious folksy guitar, it's a party-starter for any era.

When the kids take our hands, we're happy to join in and make clumsy fools of ourselves, dancing a giddy farewell to this mesmerising place, its creatures and its ghosts.

"Elephants!" says someone in the seat behind, and as our 10-seater charter aircraft banks to the left, I see them too. Graceful grey shapes, maybe 20 or more, moving steadily across the red earth, far enough from the airstrip to ensure the only trunks near this plane will be luggage.

It's not unusual at Madikwe Game Reserve to spot its larger residents before you land. Sometimes, says the pilot, incoming flights must circle until the runway's clear of creatures.

As we descend, the reserve unfurls in pleats of wooded hills, rocky outcrops and rusty earth. To the north, the border with Botswana; to the west, the yellow sandy Kalahari plains. Immense, dramatic, unmistakably Africa. Lion country.

At 75,000 hectares, Madikwe is one of South Africa's largest game reserves, and home to all the Big Five -plus a rare and significant population of endangered African wild dogs. The open grasslands, dense bushveld and rocky hills shelter 66 large mammal species including lions, cheetahs, giraffes, hyenas, buffalo and various antelopes, plus more than 300 bird species.

In the 1990s many of these creatures made conservation history in Operation Phoenix, one of the largest game translocation projects ever undertaken. More than 8000 animals of 28 species were introduced into Madikwe over seven years and still thrive in their natural ark.

Humans live enviably here, too. Our "camp" (there's not a tent in sight) at Madikwe Safari Lodge is a bevy of decadent dens embracing the curves of the hillside. Trees growing undisturbed through undulating decks create a sort of haute hobbit aesthetic, their gnarled trunks forming pillars and sculptures. Adobe walls and thatched roofs echo the terrain's sandy hues, while sumptuous sofas and rugs - as well as butlers - confirm we're at the loftier end of the reserve's 24 luxury lodges.

The lodge's lookout deck is an armchair safari by day, with giraffes and elephants frequenting the watering hole out front. By night it's a stargazing cinema for a diamond-dazzled cosmos.

On an early morning game drive, as the sun's first rays pour liquid gold over the eastern hills, our vehicle pulls up near a giant leadwood tree. From behind it, a young bull elephant strides into the dawn glow. He's in his prime and knows it, moving in powerful slow motion across our path, ears flared, tusks gleaming in the sun's spotlight. He's so majestic I just stare, camera forgotten. When he disappears back into the trees, I realise I've been holding my breath.

From then on, it's nonstop streaming wildlife, large and small: zebras, giraffes, a herd of buffalo, cape hares, cape starlings, hyena, wildebeest and a red-billed hornbill - best known to Disney fans as Zazu from The Lion King.

Where's the star of that movie, I ask Mitch, our guide, on the day's second drive. Before he can answer, we draw slowly to a halt as a huge bulk emerges from the bush. It's a big rhino, around three tonnes of stone-grey power. We keep still as he lumbers closer, until we can see the latticed creases of his leathery skin, the folds around his tree-stump legs - and his fierce, proud horn.

Madikwe has chosen not to de-horn its rhinos, focussing instead on high-tech security.

The reserve's anti-poaching units will be extra-vigilant tonight, says Mitch, pointing up at the light from a full "poacher's moon".

As we feast beneath the stars, flames from the braai barbecue leaping high, we're joined by Madikwe Wildlife Foundation's Philip Hattingh, a frontliner in the war on rhino poaching. He wears a rifle, a knife and the watchful expression acquired over years battling cunning, vicious crime syndicates.

Guests can join notching expeditions for a fee that contributes to the program. "It's humbling when you're close to rhinos," says Hattingh. "Just to touch one is remarkable."

Madikwe is one of the region's few remaining reserves with horned rhinos, he says, and that's how he intends to keep it. "I believe it's our responsibility to protect them as they are. Let's man up and do our job." And with that, he disappears into the dark savannah, ready for whatever the poacher's moon brings.

Next morning we're out on the trail again, rugged up and hugging hot water bottles in the crystalline dawn air. Mitch has news: lion sightings by Madikwe Dam. We're driving straight there.

It's our last day, and this moment feels climactic. All those stunning backdrops, the magical cast of creatures, the storybook come to life - it's led us here, to a gentle slope beside a glassy lake. We slow down and edge closer, and I see them.

The king is dozing in shade, just a few metres from our vehicle. He's lithe, with a flowing blonde mane that Jon Bon Jovi in his day would have killed for. His features are nobler than any Disney rendering, and even at rest you can see the contained power in his muscles.

His gaze flicks idly over us. We're inconsequential. To his side, a lioness sits like a haughty sphinx, turning to nudge her mate lightly every now and then, as if sharing confidences. They're relaxed as one can only be when you sit comfortably atop the world's fiercest food chain.

The lion yawns wide, revealing his fearsome gnashers. This, says Mitch, is almost certainly the closest we'll get to seeing those fangs in action today. Lions mainly enjoy the luxury of repose, and when it's time to hunt, the lionesses tend to take care of business.

"The male will help himself to the tastiest parts of the kill," adds Mitch. "He leads a pretty good life."

We watch for a while, respectful; acutely aware we're the inferior species in this tableau. It's not for the first time. On safari you feel outclassed at every turn by creatures great and small, by skills and instincts far beyond our own; by the mysterious intelligence of plants, the intricate rhythms of infinite lives and by the vast, prehistoric wisdom of the land itself.

You feel part of something greater.

The king stretches out a paw the size of a dinner plate before sinking into blissful sleep, and suddenly he looks a lot like his little cousin Skabenga snoozing on his chaise back at The Oyster Box.

Magnificence comes in all sizes: big cat, small cat; tiny weaver bird and towering elephant; gentle giraffe and the giant, besieged rhino, its fate a tug-of-war between human cruelty and compassion.

We raise a final sundowner glass to the endless worlds we've encountered, then we leave South Africa happily humbled.

The writer travelled courtesy of Adventure World and South Africa Tourism.