Red Carnation Hotels

PRESS ROOM

Spirited Away

02/03/2007

When estate agents talk of houses, they say there are three things which are vital for a good property: location, location, location. In the hospitality business, the top-of-the-pile places (to call them mere 'hotels' would sell them short) achieve legendary status with: location, location, location.

As far as locations go, The Twelve Apostles Hotel and Spa on Cape Town's Atlantic seaboard has few equals, anywhere in the world. Just look at the photographs. Argue if you must - but you won't get far.

The 12A, as its more friendly moniker goes, sits underneath the dramatic Twelve Apostles range of rugged peaks which runs like a spine up the Peninsular.

In front, the waves of the Atlantic Ocean crashing on seaweed-bedecked rocks and beaches remind you that the next stops west and south of here are South America and the Antarctic.

In the distance, the lights of Camps Bay twinkle magically in the dusk. But the 12A sits, literally, far from the madding crowd. For kilometres around it, there is no other habitation or development. Nor will there be (if the gods of venal profit are kept at bay), because the hotel sits astride a nature reserve and a national park.

Heaven forbid that the Joburg developers should rush in here and throw up thousands of Tuscan-style (or Balinese) townhouses!

The 12A photographs taken today show an area remarkably similar to the one I used to see in my mother's old family photographs - when the drive out beyond Camps Bay to Llandudno (with a few "girls from the office" in brother Mike's Ford V8) was an adventure to take your mind off the war being fought in Europe and the Far East.

My room is at the back of the hotel and for once, I have no complaints about that. Throwing open the thick drape curtains, the Apostles loom, unmoving - as they did when the San and the Khoi hunted around here; and before Jan van Riebeeck landed in 1652, and as they will loom long after the last Tuscan villa in the last golf estate has crumbled to dust.

Sitting on the balcony as dusk swallows up even these powerful peaks, can be a pretty humbling experience. As night descends, there is another reminder of the primal forces that still exist here, despite the taming effects of concrete, steel and tar. The wind scything in straight off the Atlantic harries, twists and plucks at the 12A, which audibly creaks, groans and shivers at the howling onslaught.

"I could, if I wanted to," the wind seems to say. In the morning, the air is so still you could slice and vacuum pack it if you wanted.

Haven of peace amid the 12 Apostles

It's times like this that I give thanks for the fact my legs still work and that I can still put in a half-an-hour run. Because, to stay in bed rather than imbibe the beauty of this place is a sin. (It must be said that there is a fully-equipped gym in the hotel, with every combination of weight machines, treadmills and spinning cycles - but I've never been much for exercising in any place where it's apparent that the women have bigger biceps than I do …)

It helps that I'm running right by the sea: the combination of the extra oxygen, the majesty of the peaks on my left and sea on my right, take me to a new level.

Light-footed, I feel as though I'm flying along, although the road inexorably winds up and up through new turns and false crests. I only force myself to turn around because I know I have a massage booked for 8 am at The Sanctuary, the hotel spa.

The return trip is faster and even more spectacular, because I can take in the whole seaboard up to Lion's Head with the 12A, welcoming and white, in the middle distance. By the time I've got back, I feel great. The endorphins are kicking in and the shower feels like heaven - the shower of the righteous. But, if that shower feels good, then it pales in comparison with the hour-long Swedish massage that awaits. The real reward of the righteous is an oil-scented calf muscle rub…

Seriously, I've never been a fan of massage and managed to avoid it most of my life (although I'm not bad at administering it, so I've been told - ladies please take a ticket!)

I've had a foot massage and a thumping, stretching, agonising Thai massage, which saw me get sick a day or two later, when the "poisons" left my body, as a colleague explained.

The Swedish massage at The Sanctuary perfectly echoes the name of the place, allowing me to relax into that place of peace we so seldom find in our rushed endeavours in the city. You know a massage has really worked when you hit "macaroni mode"- loose, soft, floppy. I shuffle along to my room, aglow with contentment.

To those of my friends who had jealousy attacks when they heard I was going to stay at the 12A - hope this makes you feel better! Given the beauty of the surroundings, The Twelve Apostles Hotel and Spa could offer hamburgers and campbeds and get away with it. It goes without saying, though, that this is a five-star establishment, with all that entails, in terms of accommodation, food and service.

As I sit (sadly alone) enjoying dinner in the Azure restaurant, I can't help but notice that, while most of the patrons are foreign, there are a number of South Africans willing to shell out for the best. At the table next to me, a group of English visitors - classy, moneyed people, judging by the men's jackets and the women's wrist adornments - are ordering a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne (the real deal, not JC Le Roux) with which to toast their holiday in South Africa. When their food arrives, I can't but overhear the "wonderfuls" and the "excellents".

As to service, Azure waiter Shayne Arendse should be sent up to Joburg to teach our "waitrons" the finer points of the art of good, but unobtrusive, service.

Naturally, all this doesn't come cheap, especially if you're a South African paying in rands. But, the amazing news is that the 12A does offer a range of specials - especially during winter - for SA residents which, given what's on offer, are astonishingly good value.

It's still not going to be cheap (remember, this is not a City Lodge), but you do get three things for free: location, location, location.

The Star - South Africa

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