Don’t have to be Bel Air for Delaires

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no the glasses hadn't been full...
After the bracing dip, there was just about enough left of the afternoon for a little wine tasting. With the clock against us I put aside Rustenberg winery for the next day and we randomly chose a place signposted on the motorway. With my usual customary notice of ‘quick turn right, no left here’ followed by bluster and grumble from the other one, we turned into Delaires and were waved on way up the flower bedecked driveway by security.


view from the entrance looking out
Stepping out of the car was like stepping into an episode of Brothers & Sisters. A grand terrace was abuzz with lunchtime diners eating under oversized shades, while statues lined the entrance to the minimalist lobby whose massive bronze doors yielded a vision of monochrome and display cases stuffed with De Graff diamonds. It felt like being one of those pesky Bros & Sis illegitimate kids welcomed into the fold of the richWalker family but with no sense of entitlement. Luckily, we were whisked away by a Sally Field type martyr, our affable and friendly wine waitress and on the terrace of the wine lounge she put us at our ease explaining how everything worked. We hid our backpacker roots and tried to affect a Conde Nast traveller non chalance hoping that our shorts and trainers attire could be passed off as the idiosyncrasies of the geeky rich.

In reality, no-one cared, least of all us, being too mesmerised by the views. Even the wines were secondary to the seductive wiles of earth’s natural beauty, its mountains blushing pink under the steady gaze of the afternoon sun.

We were most content.

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