A Luv Letter to a Summer in the South(s)
Dear Souths of the World,
The past couple of months, I’ve found it surprisingly hard to be creative and sit down to write about my travels. Not because there haven’t been any – although perhaps slightly fewer than usual – but somehow the words just weren’t coming.
So, where better to start again than with a summer that somehow kept pulling me further and further south?
The Start of the Summer in the South (of UK)
First came a weekend away in London (the south of the UK, so technically it counts ;)). My parents and I had planned the trip around a Ludovico Einaudi concert at the O2. The concert itself was beautiful; our seats were… less so. The following night, we had considerably better seats for the Frank Sinatra musical, which was incredibly fun. Those guys can really sing. If I had even 1% of their talent, I genuinely don’t think I would ever shut up. The rest of London consisted mostly of a little shopping and a lot of very good food — which, to be fair, is never a bad way to spend a weekend.
Restaurant in London St Pauls Cathedral Sinatra the Musical Ludovico Einaudi in the O2 Old School pub in London St Andrews Church Classic Fish and Chips Ludovico Einadi in the O2 with band London buildings
South of Europe
And then came Sardinia.
It feels like everyone and their mother went to Sardinia this summer, and apparently, we decided to join them. But I get the hype now. The island was far bigger than I had expected and somehow even more beautiful. The water was ridiculously blue and almost strangely soft despite being salty. Most days, it was perfectly calm. The villages were colourful, the landscape incredibly green, and everywhere you looked, rocky cliffs tumbled into the sea.
It genuinely blew me away, and I already know I want to go back.
We started around Porto Cervo, where the crowds were… diverse. I’m still deciding whether I mean that in a positive way. The boutiques, however, were beautiful, with window displays almost worthy of being attractions themselves. Dinner at Novikov was incredible, and the cocktails at the Cocktail Club were equally fun and slightly dangerous.
In Porto Rotondo, we were anchored in a bay just outside the port, meaning dinner required taking the tender ashore. And here is an important life lesson: just because something technically fits doesn’t necessarily mean you should make it fit. Eight people squeezed into one tiny tender. Add a few waves. By the time we arrived at the restaurant, half of us were already wet. What a way to make an entrance. At least we had our laughs.
Sunset in Sardinia View from the Port in Sardinia Porto Cervo view Drinking a little cocktail Beach guards on a next level View over Porto Cervo Bayview in Sardinia Sea view in Sardinia
Otherwise, our mornings followed a rather difficult routine of swimming around the bay, having a lovely breakfast, tanning, playing Murdoku and reading. The afternoons were equally strenuous, involving SeaBobs and paddleboards across the bay. Quite the way to spend a summer, I must say.
The final three days were spent mostly at sea. Our first stop was Elba, which surprised me more than almost anywhere else on the trip. The little streets were incredibly cosy, people were singing outside, others were dancing, and children were running around playing with flying toys. It just felt wonderfully alive. Dinner was at Osteria dei Quattro Gatti, which already won points for its name and the little story behind it written in the menu. The food was unexpectedly incredible too. Traditional dishes were combined with flavours I wouldn’t necessarily have put together myself, and several of them are now firmly stored in the part of my brain reserved for things I want to recreate at home and probably never make quite as well.
The following day, we cruised over beautifully smooth water towards Portofino. In my head, Portofino had always been synonymous with celebrities, yachts and wealth. But walking through the town, I found it much more authentic, calm and friendly than Porto Cervo. It had an entirely different atmosphere. That evening, we had dinner right in the harbour with possibly the best waiter (who also happened to be the owner) and the cutest, flirtiest baby sitting at the table next to us.
As the evening went on, though, the wind started picking up. We woke the next morning with considerably more bounce beneath our feet. That didn’t stop us from walking up to the lighthouse, almost shaking hands with Jesus somewhere around stair number 3,000. The views were impeccable, especially with the dramatic rain clouds and little beams of sunlight already pushing their way through. Beautiful. Slightly ominous. And, as it turned out, not a particularly promising sign for the journey ahead.
Once we were back onboard and headed towards our next stop, Antibes, the sea had completely changed its personality. I nearly shook hands with Jesus for a second time that day. At certain points, it felt less like a relaxing yacht trip and more like we were recreating The Wolf of Wall Street scene of trying to get to fucking Monaco, with waves crashing around us from every direction. Luckily, unlike the movie, there was no Coast Guard rescue and no shipwreck floating beside us. We arrived perfectly fine. Just with slightly shaky sea legs and a healthy dose of seasickness.
That evening, we headed into the old town of Antibes for our final night. After spending an entire day being rocked around by waves, however, nobody had much energy left for a late one, especially because our wake-up call the following morning was painfully early.
At 6:20, we flew from Nice back to Amsterdam. We had a little coffee and breakfast together before I headed through passport control again for my next flight. Amsterdam to Johannesburg. A route I am becoming almost suspiciously familiar with.
View over Portofino Beautiful house in Portofino Sunrise over Portofino Reading books every morning Portofino castle lit by night Coastal town Elba
South Africa
This would be my third trip to South Africa in roughly four months. I haven’t really written about those previous trips. Partly because I’ve enjoyed keeping them a little more private, but I also think that after returning for the third time in such a short period, it might finally be time to admit that my love for the country is becoming slightly serious.
Before summer properly started, there had already been two returns.
The first took us to Kruger, where we did a self-drive safari. We didn’t see that much besides birds – which is conveniently where my love for birds started growing. Perhaps partly because of genuine appreciation and partly out of deprivation of other, arguably cooler, animals. Until then, I had been about as bougie as one can possibly be when it comes to safari. Private reserves, game-drive vehicles, guides doing all the hard work… you get the picture. Yet I absolutely loved self-driving through Kruger. There was something incredibly intimate about being alone in the car, deciding where to go, stopping at picnic spots and discovering the little hides scattered throughout the park. At the same time, it was strangely communal. You constantly stopped next to other cars, rolled down your window and exchanged information. “Anything ahead?” “Black-backed vulture about two kilometres back.” “Thanks!” And off everyone went. A tiny safari traffic network powered entirely by gossip.
Common Buzzard Monkey family Burchell Starling Lion and Giraffe face-off Green bandit Crocodile Black Backed Vulture Little Hyena Playful Mongooses (or Mongeese....) Southern red-billed Hornbill Close-up Zebra Common Buzzard with crazy light eyes White-Fronted Bee-Eater
The second return took us to the mountains near Lydenburg. The landscape was breathtaking. It felt like someone had transported us straight into the old Scottish Highlands – or perhaps directly onto the set of Outlander. Unfortunately, out of four days, we had about three days of rain. So our mountain adventure mostly turned into crackling fires, games, downloaded series and an impressive number of cookies. Still, there are definitely worse ways to spend a rainy weekend. And when the sun finally came out on our last day, we made the absolute most of it and stayed outside from morning until evening. I learned how to fly-fish and used the opportunity to experiment with my camera, trying my hand at long-exposure landscape photography.
The beautiful fall-ish landscape Such beautiful landscape Loved to drive a real landcruiser Professional at work Cozy cabin dinners The mystery tree that grows out of a cliff Monring wake-up views Me all day, everyday Dramatic landscapes Again professional at work Sunset drives The not so professional at work But caught a fish to be released
And then came return number three. This time, there was no safari and no mountain escape. We simply stayed in Johannesburg and experienced city life. And I absolutely loved it. It was one of those wonderfully normal weeks filled with lunches, cool shops, movie nights and, perhaps most importantly, watching the Springboks play in a pub.
I had never experienced anything quite like it. We went with a big group: a few people I had met before and several completely new faces. Everyone was immediately welcoming – which, by now, I’m starting to think is simply the South African way. Then the match started. And the national anthem came on. I don’t think I have ever felt more foreign in my life. The Italians and Americans have a reputation for being patriotic, but I am officially adding South Africans to that list. The entire establishment stood up simultaneously, hands on hearts, practically scream-singing the anthem. There I was in my Springbok shirt, technically dressed correctly, yet somehow never feeling more obviously European. It was incredible to watch. Their passion for the team is genuinely contagious.
Throughout the match, there were little games, nominations and bets placed around the table. Everyone patiently explained the rules to me, and by the end of the first half, I was beginning to understand what was actually happening. Or at least I thought I was.
Five minutes before halftime, I had what I thought was an incredibly intelligent idea. Go to the bathroom before everyone else does. Unfortunately, this was girl math. And every other girl in the pub had done exactly the same calculation. The queue was enormous. Luckily, girlhood is not dead yet. Within about thirty seconds, I had befriended the two girls standing in front of me, and we spent the next twenty minutes laughing together while waiting for the bathroom.
Eventually, the Springboks beat the All Blacks; everyone was happy, and I was perhaps happiest of all about the rand-to-euro conversion, which let me drink so much for so little. Afterwards, we all headed home for a little nightcap, discussed Dolly Parton’s legendary discography and ended the night with some good old-fashioned card games. A pretty perfect South African evening.
People constantly tell you how dangerous Johannesburg is. And of course, it is a city where you need to be aware of where you are and what you’re doing. But personally, I’ve never felt unsafe there. We even went to a shooting range on our last day and, funnily enough, I discovered that apparently I’m a natural talent. I have excellent eyesight, so perhaps there was a brief career opportunity there. Unfortunately, life as a sniper probably isn’t for me. Firstly, I am extremely impatient. Secondly – and definitely more importantly – I am not one for killing. So I've crossed that career path off the list.
But all jokes aside, Johannesburg surprises me every time I visit. It feels more modern every time I’m there. There are beautiful grocery stores, incredible luxury shops and some genuinely fantastic restaurants. But above everything else, there are the people. I feel incredibly welcome every time I’m there. And perhaps that is why I’m actually quite sad that I won’t be returning for a couple of months now.
This summer was a strange one. A little disconnected. A little all over the place.
There were concert halls, yachts, rough seas, quiet bays, rainy mountains, city lunches, rugby pubs and far too many flights south.
But looking back, perhaps there was a theme after all.
Because somehow, no matter which South I found myself in this summer, there was always something there that made me want to stay a little longer.
Spread the Luv South,
Isabella
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