Susan Buckland: Rescuer's firm eye on the road

It was the hat, its floppy, wide brim wrapped with a flowing scarf, that caught my eye. Its wearer was surprisingly small in comparison. But she cut an enviable swathe through the tangle of stranded passengers. Now that is someone who knows where she is going, I thought, even when the going gets tough.

I guessed that she, like me and about 150 other passengers, should have been boarding a scheduled flight to Johannesburg. But because of bad weather the flight was cancelled, leaving us high and dry in Skukuza Airport in the middle of the South African game park country.

Had it not been necessary to catch a connecting flight to New Zealand, I would have booked a later flight and cut my own path back to Ngala Game Reserve. The previous few days out on safari observing the wild animals of Africa in their natural environment had passed too swiftly.

On the other hand, the next flight out of Skukuza would arrive in Jo'burg too late for my international connection. In an undecided haze I looked around for the wide-brimmed hat. It had arrived at the rental car counter and its wearer was punching well above her weight.

"I'll take it!" she announced to the attendant, who was twice her height. With a flourish she signed the form, swept keys from the counter and the crowd once more parted like the Red Sea as she moved purposefully towards the door.

She noticed me as she was about to step outside. "Where are you going?" she asked with a voice that needed an immediate answer. "Nowhere if I can't hire a rental car. Johannesburg if I can," I smiled weakly in response. "I hired the last one," she said. "I'm Barbara. I'm going to Johannesburg. I'll give you a lift."

Several hundred kilometres worth of lift, as it turned out. But I was grateful, and not just because Barbara got me to Johannesburg in time to catch my plane. During the hours on the road the two of us relaxed into friendly acquaintance and I learned of her love for South Africa.

The country was her adopted home. She and her husband, Rupert, had done the reverse of many South Africans migrating overseas. They had decided to quit London and move to Johannesburg. But not to twiddle their thumbs. Rupert set up a tour company and Barbara set about converting an old hunting lodge near the Kruger National Park into a small hotel.

That was more than 20 years ago. Cybele Forest Lodge, as they called it, went on to become the first establishment of its kind in South Africa to enter the prestigious list of Relais and Chateaux hotels. She painted a romantic picture of the lodge, set in forest and surrounded by mountains.

Guests sit on the veranda sipping sundowners, breathing in the aroma of gardenia and frangipani and watching monkeys cavort in the turpentine trees. It was a pity I had a plane to catch. She would have introduced me to Cybele, the jacaranda trees would have been in full violet flower.

I could have strolled down to the river where the wild bushbucks live in the thickets. Did I like birds? There are all kinds in the forest. Purple crested louries, fish eagles, sunbirds. And did I ride? People like to ride out from the stables at Cybele because the property is surrounded by wonderful riding country.

Inevitably, the conversation moved from the pleasures of Cybele to the problems of living in South Africa, which have persuaded many to find new homes abroad. "But they take their country with them in their hearts," said Barbara. "For all its challenges South Africa is a magnificent country."

She meant it. The last time I heard such certainly in her voice was at the rental car counter back in Skukuza Airport. Being stranded simply wasn't in Barbara's sights. Nor was leaving South Africa.

It occurred to me after she and I parted company in Johannesburg that Cybele, the name of her Forest Lodge was the name of the Roman mother earth goddess. There was also a touch of Cybele in Barbara.