Pair enjoys time out in the sun at Klein Kariba Resort. Pictures: : Hein Kaiser
Here is something about camping that simply feeds the soul.
It can also be soul destroying when things go awry, but, somehow, challenging experiences leave you enriched – and sometimes a bit poorer.
Klein Kariba, close to Bela-Bela, delivered all the aforementioned in just four days. After a 90-minute drive from Joburg, Klein Kariba is a welcoming oasis: green, impeccably maintained and everyone’s friendly.
It’s an ATKV (Afrikaanse Taal en Kultuur Vereeniging) resort, so the first language is Afrikaans. All the signage is bilingual and so are the personnel.
From the get-go it felt as if the staff were invested in our family having a fantastic time. Helpful would be an understatement; open arms a better description of how it embraces its customers.
So, ok. People are friendly. But camping still ain’t for sissies. After checking in and arriving at our designated and paved, camping site, the trouble started. It was near impossible to hammer in the tent pegs into the paving.
After all, bricks are solid, not porous. It took forever just to get the ground sheet secured, and at some anchor points and several bent pegs later, we couldn’t secure the tent well enough, as both my family and our camping friends would learn to our horror, later.
To make the lust for a sunset beer significantly greater, the valve that was required to connect our pump to our inflatable tent, was missing in action.
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We opted for an inflatable tent at the start of our camping journey because, well, having no poles seemed like less hassle. And previously it was just like that.
After trying electric pumps of several other campers and trying to find an open camping store in the middle of nowhere, my very practical wife finally came up with a solution, using her fingers to connect the nozzle and the inlet.
But it was hard pumping, because so much air escaped. Combined with the peg and concrete conun drum, no deodorant commercial could have negated the fragrance it delivered. But we got it done. Eventually.
Klein Kariba is a fantastic resort. The pools are giant, heated, and there are several of them scattered around the entertainment area. It’s clean, squeaky clean and the indoor warm pool is wonderful for an after-dinner dip.
Here, you can swim until mid-evening, and everyone takes advantage of it.
There’s mini-golf, a lovely super tube slide and loads of activities – tennis courts, horse riding, quad bikes and more – and plenty of space for the kids to cycle around and a dam for fishing or pedalo-ing.
The supermarket on site stocks everything you have forgotten and loads of stuff you may just want to add to your experience.
Unlike other camping resorts, Klein Kariba’s ablutions are plentiful and you never inherit anyone else’s hot seat after queuing to ab lute.
The shower cubicles are spacious and it’s the first venue where I’ve been that also features a bath in the men’s block. Ideal for taking the load off mom and scrubbing dusty juniors before bedtime.
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The resort also offers several other forms of accommodation if camping is not your thing, including log cabins, holiday apartments and luxury tents.
There’s a great little take-out (only open on weekends and peak times) and a great restaurant on-site too.
The prices are not appetite suppressing and the food is decent, wholesome. But, dear Klein Kariba, please use real cheese on sandwiches, not the processed kind.
There’s just no way that you cannot not have a good time at Klein Kariba. And when disaster struck our encampment, it was funnily, some fun too.
In hind sight, that is. Because the wind picked up toward the end of our stay. And it picked up more. And by the middle of the night on our final evening it blew more hot air than an election rally.
Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem. Our inflatable tent has survived storms and hailstones the size of chicken eggs before.
But add up the fact that we were unable to secure the tents properly, with a strong gale force wind, and disaster was the answer.
Our inflatable gazebo started heading for the skies at around midnight, and panicked toil in the dark eventually saved it. Well, that and the weight of the stuff inside.
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The next morning, everything was still standing, but it was also head-home day and striking the campsite was a challenge after breakfast.
For our friends, the first meal of the day turned into a Survivor episode.
A gust of wind razed their tent, and everything went flying. It turned the bacon and eggs of an English breakfast into the expletives of a hungry sailor.
The very same gust flattened our tent, with six year old Cuba still fast asleep inside. “Help!” re placed “Good morning, Dad” and then, thankfully, fits of laughter instead of tears.
Curiously, other campers preferred to rather “kyk-daar” than come to anyone’s blown-away aid. But we managed. And still spent a great morning at the pool before heading back to the big smog.
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