Johannesburg is South Africa's largest and fastest-growing city and is built on a history of racial division that achieved its most dramatic form in the twentieth century policy of strict separation known as apartheid.
South Africa: Sima Kade – A Magaliesburg Bush Retreat Stay
🏡 Sima Kade: A Tiny House and Big Skies in the Magaliesburg
I’ll admit it now, before I go any further: I am not a natural glamper. At sixty, my idea of roughing it is a hotel without a proper kettle. So when my wife suggested a couple of nights at somewhere called Sima Kade, “a private off-grid valley in the Magaliesburg”, I did the thing every Englishman of my age does when faced with the great outdoors — I nodded enthusiastically while quietly wondering where the nearest plug socket might be.
Sima Kade sits about thirty kilometres north of Johannesburg, tucked into a fold of the Magaliesberg mountains, which is a name I mangled for the entire trip (it’s the range, Magaliesberg; the district around it is Magaliesburg — nobody in South Africa seemed remotely bothered by my confusion, which was generous of them). What I hadn’t quite appreciated before we set off was that these are not just any old hills. The Magaliesberg is reckoned to be somewhere in the region of two and a bit billion years old, which makes it considerably older than the Alps, the Rockies, and indeed almost every other mountain range you could name, bar a handful of ancient outcrops in Australia and Greenland. The Himalayas, by comparison, are practically teenagers, having only shoved themselves up out of the earth around fifty million years ago. I mention this not to show off — I looked it up afterwards, like everyone does — but because it rather changes how you look at a hillside. This wasn’t just scenery. This was some of the oldest scenery on the planet, and it had been sitting there quietly for two billion years without so much as a plaque to say so.
The name Sima Kade, I was told, means “Tree of Life,” which is the sort of name that could easily tip over into new-age whimsy, but in this case it rather suited the place. It’s built from stone and timber hauled out of the valley itself, and the whole operation runs off-grid — solar power, harvested water, the works — which the owners describe, not unreasonably, as being “at one” with the surroundings. I’d normally raise an eyebrow at that kind of phrase, but having been there, I’ll let it go.
🛖 Our Cabin: The Venus, and the Art of Getting There
We were staying in the Venus Cabin, one of several separate places to stay dotted around the valley depending on how many of you are travelling and how much privacy you’re after. Getting to it, mind you, was an adventure of its own. The last stretch is up a dirt track that had clearly seen better days — rutted, stony, and the sort of surface that makes you grip the steering wheel a little tighter and mutter things under your breath. We’d come in a perfectly ordinary two-wheel-drive saloon, and we only made it because South Africa was in the middle of a dry spell. Had it rained recently, I have no doubt we’d still be there now, wheels spinning, waiting for a farmer with a tractor and a knowing smile. If you’re going in the rainy season, take my advice and get yourself something with four-wheel drive, or at the very least make peace with your maker before you set off.
All the grumbling was worth it, though, because the cabin itself was a proper treat. It was a two-storey tiny house, all wood, metal and glass, and it had clearly been designed by someone who actually thought about how people live rather than just how a brochure photo would look. The windows were enormous, so that even sitting inside you felt as though you were out among the trees — which, at my age, is about as close to communing with nature as I’m generally prepared to get. Downstairs there was a small rustic kitchen, just about big enough to make a cup of tea without elbowing your other half in the ribs, and a modest seating area. It was compact, there’s no getting away from that, but tiny houses rather live by the philosophy that the outdoors is really just another room of the house, and Sima Kade had that principle down to a fine art.
Outside, there were two separate decks, and this is where the place really earned its keep. One had a braai — which for anyone reading this back in England is what South Africans call a barbecue, and they take it about as seriously as we take a decent cup of tea — along with a seating area and, rather brilliantly, an outdoor bath. From there you looked straight out across the valley to the mountains beyond, and because the cabins are spaced well apart and hidden among the trees, there was no danger of the neighbours getting an eyeful. The only creatures likely to catch you unawares were the local monkeys, who I gather have no shame whatsoever about staring. We took full advantage of the privacy and spent an embarrassing amount of our stay wandering about with nothing on, which is not something I’d normally admit to in print, but there you are — it’s that sort of place. On the other side of the cabin was a second deck, with proper seating and an outdoor queen-sized day bed under a canopy, plus an outdoor shower, which I have always thought is one of life’s genuinely underrated pleasures. Something about washing under an open sky feels faintly indulgent, in a way that a shower cubicle in Croydon simply never will.
🏔️ A Morning Wander to the Sky Terrace
On our last morning we were in no hurry to leave, which is unusual for me, as I generally like to be packed and gone with time to spare, purely so I can complain about how early we had to get up. But breakfast was leisurely, the sun was out, and we decided to go for a walk to look at some of the other accommodation dotted around Sima Kade, most of which was sitting empty that week.
We wandered up from the Bush Camp — the largest of the sites, sleeping up to sixteen and spread out along the river through the heart of the valley — to the Sky Terrace, which is where things got genuinely unusual. This is another site built for groups of sixteen, and it’s an odd but rather brilliant combination of styles: somewhere between an old Incan village and a modern bush-veld glamping site. The sleeping quarters are made from repurposed grain silos, converted into what I suppose you’d call mobile bedroom pods, each with two bunk-style beds, sitting alongside “Towers” — tall stone structures built into the slope, with big glass windows and butterfly roofs, each containing two en-suite bedrooms. I hadn’t come across a butterfly roof before this trip; it’s the kind that dips in the middle rather than peaking, like two wings meeting, which is presumably how it got its name, and it does a rather elegant job of channelling rainwater when it finally decides to fall.
There was also a large communal kitchen, and the Butterfly Hall, a big round building with a sturdy wooden floor, stone walls broken up by no fewer than eleven double doors, and another of those butterfly roofs floating above wraparound windows, with a proper fireplace at one end. It struck me as the sort of space built for group yoga, wellness retreats, or possibly a wedding reception for people with more adventurous taste than mine — either way, it had a genuine sense of occasion about it, despite being miles from anywhere.
l areas for all to enjoy.
About Sima Kade Bush Retreat
I have to be honest with you from the off: I’d never heard of the Magaliesburg before a mate of mine, who fancies himself a bit of an African travel expert after two safaris and a timeshare in Cape Town, mentioned it in passing over a pint in the Prince Albert. “You want off-grid, proper off-grid, not the sort of off-grid where they still bring you a gin and tonic on a silver tray,” he said, “you want Sima Kade.” I nodded along in the way you do when someone’s clearly more informed than you and you can’t be bothered to admit it, then went home and looked it up.
Turns out Sima Kade means “Tree of Life” — I’m reliably informed this comes from a blend of local naming traditions, though I’ll admit my grasp of the etymology is roughly as solid as my grasp of assembling flat-pack furniture. What I did understand straight away was the location: a private valley about 30 kilometres north of Johannesburg, in the Magaliesburg range, which — and this took me rather by surprise — is reckoned to be one of the oldest mountain ranges on the planet, somewhere in the region of two billion years old. Two billion. I struggle to keep a houseplant alive for two months, so a mountain range that’s been quietly sitting there since before there was anything much alive to look at it does rather put your own achievements into perspective.
The other thing that grabbed me, and the reason I eventually stopped dithering and booked the flight, was that this whole area sits right on the doorstep of the Cradle of Humankind. Now, if — like me before I did my homework — you’re a bit hazy on what that actually is, it’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site, so declared back in 1999, and it’s essentially one of the richest deposits of early human and hominin fossils anywhere in the world. The Sterkfontein Caves, which are the star attraction of the area, have been turning up fossils since the 1930s, including the famous “Mrs Ples” skull found in 1947, and a nearly complete skeleton nicknamed “Little Foot” that took researchers decades to fully excavate from the rock. So there I was, a bloke from London whose most significant historical discovery is usually finding a fiver in an old coat pocket, about to go and stay a short drive from where actual human origins were being pieced together. Bit humbling, that.
Getting there and first impressions
Johannesburg itself I’d flown into before, years back, for work, and remembered mostly as motorways and security fences, which I appreciate isn’t the fairest assessment but there you go, that’s what stuck. The drive out to Magaliesburg took under an hour, and the transformation was proper dramatic — city gives way to farmland, farmland gives way to these great crumpled ridges of quartzite rock, and before long you’re on dirt roads wondering if your hire car insurance covers this sort of thing.
Sima Kade itself, when you arrive, is built entirely from stone and wood sourced from the valley itself, which I gather is rather the whole point — the idea being that the buildings don’t so much sit in the landscape as grow out of it. There are three separate venues, each self-catering, connected by stone pathways that wind from forest down to the riverside and out across open grass. It’s all designed to be sustainable and entirely off-grid, meaning solar power, no mains electricity, and — this took some adjusting to for a man who checks his phone approximately every four minutes — patchy to non-existent signal. I won’t pretend the first evening wasn’t a bit of a wrench. By the third, I’d more or less forgotten mobile phones were a thing humans had invented.
I should say, this isn’t a hotel in any conventional sense — there’s no reception desk, no chap in a waistcoat carrying your bags, none of that. It’s the sort of place groups book out for retreats, ceremonies, family gatherings, or, I’d imagine, blokes wanting to disappear for a week and pretend they’re capable of surviving in the wild while secretly being very glad of the fully equipped kitchen.
🏕️ Bush Camp — sleeping sixteen by the river
This was the first spot I had a proper wander round, and it’s the largest of the venues, sleeping up to sixteen. It’s spread out along the riverside, right in the heart of the valley, made up of a series of interconnected areas linked by winding paths, so you never quite see the whole thing at once — you’re forever discovering another little clearing or seating area you hadn’t noticed. It’s rustic in the very best sense of that word, by which I mean nothing about it feels forced or done up for the cameras. It felt like the kind of place you’d bring a big group of friends for somebody’s fortieth, sit round a fire, drink slightly too much, and wake up the next morning with the sound of the river to remind you why you came.
🏔️ Sky Terrace — silos, stone towers and a view that shuts you up
Now this one’s a proper curiosity, and I mean that as the highest compliment. Somebody described it to me as a cross between an Incan village and a modern bush-veld glamping site, and having seen it, I can’t better that description, so I shan’t try. It’s built on a series of lawned terraces on a rock shelf, tucked beneath some genuinely towering cliffs, looking straight out over the valley and the wider sweep of the Magalies mountains. Also sleeps sixteen.
What I found properly clever was the use of old grain silos, repurposed into what they call mobile bedroom pods, each one fitted out with two bunk-style beds. There’s something rather satisfying about a grain silo — a bit of old farming infrastructure — being given a second life as somewhere to kip, rather than just left to rust in a field, which is the fate of most things round my way once they’ve outlived their usefulness (myself included, some days). Alongside the silos there’s a stone tower, this tall rock structure that seems to grow straight out of the slope, with enormous glass windows and what they call a butterfly roof — two roof panels sloping inward to a central valley, if you’re picturing it, rather than the usual pitched arrangement. Inside, two en-suite bedrooms. I stood on that terrace at dusk with a cup of tea going cold in my hand because I couldn’t be bothered to drink it while that view was happening, and I don’t mind admitting it was one of those rare moments abroad when you actually go quiet.
🕳️ The Cave House — for two to four, at the top of the valley
Right at the top of the valley, overlooking a forested amphitheatre that I can only describe as looking like something off a nature documentary, sits the Cave House. Sleeps two to four, open plan, with a proper kitchen — none of your two-ring hob nonsense — a bedroom with wooden flooring, and a dining area built round a wood-burner fireplace. Given that Magaliesburg evenings can turn surprisingly sharp even when the days have been warm, that fireplace earns its keep. This felt to me like the spot for a couple wanting a bit of peace, or possibly a small family who like each other enough to be in fairly close quarters for a few days, which — speaking as a father — is not something I’d assume of every family.
🌙 The Kama Cabin — a tiny home with big views, for two
The Kama Cabin — Cabin of Desire, apparently, though I promise I’m too English to make anything of that name beyond a raised eyebrow — is a double-storey tiny home for two, positioned on a hidden ridge in the heart of the valley. From there you get views of the cliffs and out towards the Magalies mountains. Tiny homes are having a bit of a moment generally, aren’t they, what with everyone on the telly downsizing to shipping containers, and I can see the appeal when the “tiny” part comes with a view like that thrown in for free.
✨ The Venus Cabin — named for the evening star, sleeps two
Last but not least, the Venus Cabin, named after the evening star that turns up trailing along behind the sunsets this particular spot is built to frame. Another double-storey tiny home, sleeping two, set on a slope that’s half tucked into forest and half looking straight out over the valley. There’s a stream nearby that starts its climb up towards a rock pool, so you get the sound of falling water drifting up to keep you company of an evening — which, I’ll be honest, beats the sound of my neighbour’s extractor fan, which is what I usually fall asleep to back home.
ds of water falling.
| Bookings | |
| Type: | Basic accommodation in a beautiful setting |
| Website: | https://www.sima-kade.co.za/ |
| Prices: | Around R1500 per night |
The Best Time to Visit Gauteng
🌸 Spring (September–November)
Spring is one of the most rewarding times to visit Gauteng. Temperatures climb steadily from around 16 °C in September to the mid-20s °C by November, and the landscape transforms as jacaranda trees burst into their iconic violet bloom across Pretoria — a spectacle that typically peaks in late October. Rainfall begins to return towards the end of spring with afternoon thunderstorms, but mornings are generally clear and fresh. Crowds remain moderate and accommodation prices have not yet peaked, making spring excellent value.
What to Pack: Lightweight layers for cool mornings and warm evenings, a light waterproof jacket for late afternoon showers, comfortable walking shoes, sunscreen, sunglasses, a wide-brimmed hat, and a camera for the jacaranda blooms.
☀️ Summer (December–February)
Summer is Gauteng’s warmest and wettest season. Daytime temperatures regularly reach 28–32 °C, and afternoon thunderstorms — often dramatic but short-lived — are a daily occurrence. The rains keep the highveld lush and green, and Johannesburg and Pretoria’s parks and gardens are at their most vibrant. However, the combination of heat and humidity can be oppressive during midday. December also coincides with South Africa’s school holidays, so tourist sites, roads, and popular restaurants are significantly busier. It is advisable to book accommodation well in advance.
What to Pack: Lightweight breathable clothing (linen or moisture-wicking fabrics), a compact umbrella or poncho, sandals and comfortable trainers, a high-SPF sunscreen, insect repellent, sunglasses, a wide-brimmed hat, and a reusable water bottle.
🍂 Autumn (March–May)
Autumn is arguably the finest season to visit Gauteng. The rains taper off after March, leaving behind clear skies and a softened, golden landscape. Temperatures are comfortably warm — typically 20–26 °C during the day — dropping to pleasant, cooler evenings. Crowds thin considerably after the school holiday period, and accommodation rates settle back to off-peak levels. April and May in particular offer near-perfect conditions for outdoor sightseeing, safari day trips to nearby reserves, and exploring Johannesburg’s thriving arts and culinary scene.
What to Pack: Light daytime clothing with a warmer layer for evenings, a light jacket, comfortable walking shoes, sunscreen, sunglasses, and a versatile scarf for cooler nights.
❄️ Winter (June–August)
Gauteng’s winter is dry, sunny, and largely rain-free — ideal for game viewing at nearby reserves, as vegetation thins and animals gather near water sources. Daytime temperatures are typically pleasant at 16–20 °C, but nights and early mornings can be bitterly cold, dropping to 2–5 °C, and overnight frosts are not uncommon. The dry air and strong sun mean UV levels remain high despite the cool feel. Winter is the low season for tourism, which means lower prices, shorter queues, and a more relaxed atmosphere at most attractions.
What to Pack: Warm layers including a fleece and a wind-resistant jacket, thermal underlayers for early mornings and evenings, warm socks, sturdy closed-toe shoes, gloves, a scarf, lip balm and moisturiser for the dry air, and high-SPF sunscreen.
🗓️ Overall Best Time to Visit
If you can choose only one time of year, autumn — particularly April and May — offers the most consistently rewarding experience in Gauteng. The rains have ended, skies are clear and blue, temperatures are warm but not oppressive, and the province feels unhurried and accessible. Spring runs a close second, especially for those drawn to Pretoria’s spectacular jacaranda display in October. Winter is the smart choice for budget-conscious travellers and for those combining the city with a game-viewing safari in a nearby reserve, where the dry season dramatically improves wildlife sightings. Summer, while energetic and verdant, is best approached with tolerance for heat, daily downpours, and holiday crowds. Whatever season you choose, Gauteng rewards the visitor who plans ahead — particularly for accommodation during the December school holidays and the October jacaranda season.
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