A side trip from Cape Town: Prince Albert

My travels have brought me to the idyllic town of Prince Albert, which for the past few years has steadily been gaining favor as a getaway from the Big Smoke of Cape Town. It's about four hours east (longer for any driver with a sense of leisure), and you can get there in one of three major routes, any of which is more gorgeous than almost any road you're likely to have been on before.

Tourists by the thousands swarm the overrated strip of coastal greenery known as the Garden Route, two hours south of here. It's a real waste of vacation time that they choose that overcrowded highway, jammed with motels and rip-off joints, instead of exploring the breathtaking canyons that wind down the Groot Swartberge range to Prince Albert.

The Swartberg Pass (off the N2 from George and Oodtshorn or off the R62) is the most astonishing way in, with its dirt-bed switchbacks and phenomenal views of farmlands to the south and mighty burnt-red canyons to the north. The best way to reach Prince Albert is to descend through those blazing canyons (most tourists prefer this method since you'll be on the left, or safely on the mountain side, almost the whole way); although the trip is only about 13 miles, it will take over an hour. On the way out, many opt for the more subdued Meiringspoort pass on a route that traces scalloped land through new winelands and old-style Afrikaner towns like De Rust.

This is ostrich country, and on the way in and out you'll pass dozens of open-pen farms where these big birds galoomph around in the sun. Feel free to stop your car to take a few pictures and to tell them how delicious they are, but don't make the mistake I did and stick your hand too closely to their necks, swaying like sunflowers in the breeze; these reptilian-brained goliaths can't tell food from friends, and you'll get a shocking (but harmless) peck.

It's also baboon country. Strange as it seems to North Americans, in between South Africa's adorable farm towns (which but for a few details might fit into the Great Plains or Texas) are swaths of land dominated by true African wildlife. The baboons you'll meet around Prince Albert, like the ones I spotted loafing beside a brook in the cavernous Meiringspoort pass, are still afraid of humans, and unlike the ones around Cape Town, are not predisposed to leaping into your car to tear up your upholstery. Yet.

By night, in the unfathomably wide velt (wild flatland) that stretches to distant mountains, visitors can lay down to see millions of stars gather around the famous Southern Cross (mostly invisible to North Americans, so see it best here or in Outback Australia), and occasionally hear the whooping scream of leopards in the far distance. I haven't personally heard one, but a friend who lives in Prince Albert took me to a place where he frequently sees their tracks.

Prince Albert was settled in the mid-1800's by a handful of farmers who were lured into the desert by the spring that flows from the mountains through the town year-round. To this day, the spring (which is so pure you can drink right from it) crisscrosses through the town's few streets in miniature system of canals and sluices. The water, in turn, nourishes this mineral-rich land and produces stunning horticulture -- Prince Albert may be a desert hamlet, but its dazzling array of floral life, plus its assortment of astonishingly well-preserved Dutch farmhouses, make it a true oasis.

Today Prince Albert attracts a mixed bag of artists, free spirits, and harmless loonies. As someone who partially grew up in Key West in the '70s, I was intrigued by the tales I'd heard about the friendly vibe (and gentle gentrification) Prince Albert had acquired in recent years. A decade ago, so I'm told, it was hard to find anyone in Prince Albert who even spoke English instead of Afrikaans, so old-fashioned South Africa it was. Today, English is everywhere.

It is indeed an eccentric but exceedingly comforting place, much like Key West, Lahaina, or Santa Fe were in their heyday, I can't think of anywhere in the United States that still has its equal in a place like Prince Albert, where the main Kerk (Church) street is filled with art galleries and other signs of upward mobility, yet perfectly preserved farmhouses, complete with working windmills, still sell for as little as $7,000.

Naturally, it doesn't cost much to sleep here, either. Options for self-catering (i.e. no-meal) accommodation are laid out at the main Tourist Office on Kerk Street, and most come to less than $15 for an entire house and yard, all to yourself. (Onse Rus Guest House, 47 Church Street, 023/541-1380).

I chose to go with the full-board option, and landed a darling three-bedroom house (stocked with books, furniture, a full kitchen, a huge garden with four silly ducks, and all three meals prepared to my specifications with dairy-fresh ingredients)-all for $27 a night. It doubles as a wellness center, and I did have a reiki session for $16 (far less than what they cost back home). I have the entire house to myself (the proprietor lives a block away in a much more modest abode), and spend hours lounging beneath blooming bougainvillea branches, reading novels as the ducks nibble around my tanned feet. After a lifetime of hotels, I can't imagine anywhere more serene and alluring than the Bijlia Cana (De Beer St., 023/541-1872, ). I went half-way around the world to find this kind of peace and feeling of security. I originally planned to stay here one night. Now I'm staying four, and the cost of everything-meals, accommodation-will be a little over $100. That's right; I could stay nearly two weeks for $300.