If someone asked me why I love the Vumba – it would be for this:
I’m not a golfer. Yet the Vumba has a certain kind of magic that makes me want to pick up a club and swipe the ball into the fluffy white clouds, over and over again.
I’m not a gardener. Yet the Vumba is like one big enchanted garden. It captures my imagination and draws me into a world of colour, shapes and textures – like I’m walking into an artist’s painting.
I’m not a hiker. Yet the Vumba makes me want to shake the dust off a pair of my old hiking boots – and walk deep into the forest, finding waterfalls, streams and little openings in the canopy of trees. Discovering secrets that are only shared with those who explore.
I’m not a baker. Yet the Vumba bewitches me with all things sweet. Like a page torn out of the fairytale book, Hansel and Gretel – I’m led to a little cottage in the depths of a forest where I am fattened up with chocolate, thick dollops of cream and crushed hazelnuts soaked in coffee liqueur.
I’m not a birder. Yet the Vumba slows me down. It makes me want to lie sprawled on my back in the middle of a forested garden and listen. It’s a place that quietens my soul and opens my ears to the singing of birds.
The Vumba is a place that inspires.
“I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.”
~John Muir, 1913, in L.M. Wolfe, ed., John Muir, John of the Mountains: The Unpublished Journals of John Muir, 193