After breakfast in our cute log cabin (shared with a pair of monkeys which brazenly raided our fruit bowl, and an unidentified possum-like creature which had made its home under the gas cooker), we walked along an empty beach festooned with jewel-like shells (and the odd desiccated baby shark). A connection on South African Airlink to Umtata costs pounds 147 return.Getting to Mpumalanga/Eastern TransvaalThe lowest fare to Johannesburg: through Trailfinders (0171-938 3366) is pounds 405 on Air France via Paris (valid from Birmingham, Manchester and Edinburgh and London) – return before 13 June. Then we climbed to Kobole Point and down over the Wild Coast. Its white beaches and verdant bays, its herds of eland and swarms of crab, its deep forests and shallow rockpools, seemed to belong to us alone.Getting to the TranskeiThe closest international airport is Durban, from Heathrow three times a week by British Airways (0345 222111) and South African Airways (0171- 312 5000); if you book before 14 May, SAA has a fare of pounds 433 including tax. The upper branches of the trees were festooned like nuclear Christmas trees with pedant mangrove snails, all curled up in their twirly cone shells, waiting for the tide to return.They must have had a good snigger at us ignorant incomers, lounging blithely on a grassy knoll with no idea that the tide was coming in fast We got up to go, and found ourselves marooned. From here you can take a day’s hike to one of the most southerly mangrove swamps in Africa. It was a fantastically primeval sight: white mangrove trees whose aerial roots stuck surreally up out of the grey mud, itself potted with a thousand drillholes, homes to scuttling sesamid crabs.

For two nights, we stayed at one of the few “developed” resorts, a low-key collection of thatched cottages at the mouth of the Umngazi river. Permits are required to walk through the nature reserves – you must walk north to south and water is available at huts, sited every seven miles.To walk the entire Wild Coast would take two weeks, so we took a softer option. A few Xhosa words and phrases go down well: “Molweni” in greeting, “Siya bulela” in thanks; but getting the click right to ask for the river Xora with a dusty mouth is no easy matter.The Wild Coast lacks any coast roads whatsoever – for each seaside destination, you must return to the Umtata north-south highway – and this may explain why one of the world’s most beautiful regions is still largely unexploited, save for a handful of thankfully small resort hotels. It is best explored on foot; the whole coastline is one big hiking freeway. Even when hurtling down a dirt track and blowing dust in their faces, the school kids and farmers we passed seemed to find the rare sight of obviously lost white people entirely hilarious and remarkable, and our arms ached from reciprocal waving. Yet such beauty can be treacherous: an inordinate amount of seagoing vessels have met sticky ends on these rocks, and beads and bits of crockery are still being washed ashore from 18th-century disasters.Despite the fact that there are only about three Tarmac roads in the whole region, it is a pleasure to drive through, because of the affable nature of the people. The only settlement of any size on the aptly-named Wild Coast is Port St Johns – a haunted old town named after the Sao Joao, wrecked there in 1552.

There’s a faded hotel, and an excellent guest house, and the whiff of dagga (dope) is never far away. With its deserted sandy beaches, craggy coastline and palms, Port St Johns has the air of a retreat from civilisation; few white South Africans go there.They don’t know what they’re missing: the view from the subtropical terrace of The Lodge must be one of the best in the world. An hour later we pulled up by the side of the road and realised that the vegetation had turned totally tropical. Paw-paw, banana and avocado trees had sprung up to take the place of the cacti- like red spikes of aloes, and a million insects and birds were celebrating the fact. It is a beautiful landscape, all rolling hills bedecked with flame-coloured aloes.

Umtata, at its centre, is a fantastically African town, with street-sellers purveying anything from bootleg trainers to bubble-bath in gin bottles. Here you book accommodation for the Wild Coast reserves in ancient offices lit by flickering emergency electric lights. There are frequent power cuts, and the telephone system is equally erratic. We made the mistake of arriving there on a Saturday, and found only a young man on bushfire watch, one ear glued to his radio as he told us he would have to return on Monday for our bookings.Undeterred, we set off for the coast As we descended, the climate became appreciably hotter. However, they pointed out Madiba’s country retreat: a low bungalow-cum-compound in yellow brick to which the President escapes at any opportunity. Every morning just before dawn, Madiba sets off on an exhausting (for his companions) hike across the hills, talking all the time, surrounded by a wide diamond- shaped phalanx of bodyguards.The President’s love for the place is perfectly understandable.