These were the first rains of the season, bringing cool relief to the salty soil of the Limpopo, where water and prosperity are forever tied together. The first Voortrekker settlers of this region, stopping to quench their oxen in a north-flowing river, christened that water the Nylstroom, imagining it rolled onward to feed the distant Nile. They were wrong, but from that stream they sluiced their first gold, and the future of South Africa was set.
As we clickity-clacked over that river, we were in the kind of luxury those pioneers could only dream of. On this brace of 19 carriages we had the run of two dining cars, a lounge car, and an observation car hooked on the end. Our suite was our private, climate-controlled warren—a wide double bed snug against the window, a writing table, a wardrobe, and an en-suite shower and toilet. All of it was designed in-house, to Rovos’ own specifications, the warm, wood-paneled suite in which I stood, proof positive of the craftsmanship of the Rovos workforce.
The Rovos line in all its splendor—a vision of green and white carriages that draws the eye across the yellow veld—owes its existence to the foresight of South African Rohan Vos, who, back in 1989, took the business from unlikely dream to realization. It was Vos who also set the tone for the experience that followed, from the embargo on handheld devices, to the requirement for formal attire at dinner. To say nothing of the four-course gourmet meals, all-day open bar, curated wine list, ready and hardworking staff, and pre-booked off-train excursions.
Nothing like it exists on the African continent, in terms of scale or luxury. Today, four full trains operate across eleven routes throughout southern Africa, including one cutting east-west across the continent, from Dar es Salaam through the Democratic Republic of the Congo, to Angola and the deep-water port of Lobito. With little to no passenger rail services remaining in sub-Saharan Africa, the countryside crossed by the railway is largely untouched by tourism. The hinterland one sees from the Rovos Rail, of Zambia and Botswana, of Namibia and Tanzania, is the true, largely untrammeled face of the region.
Rovos’ improbability fully comes to bear when crossing the Matabeleland of western Zimbabwe. Beyond the rail line in both directions, the land was a vast expanse of harsh scrub often pitted with the black scars of bushfires—only a few small villages of subsistence farmers broke the monotony. One rides Rovos free of any internet connection, but even if it were fitted, it would be futile here: the Matabeleland is a place beyond the reaches of modern technology. Instead, we sat with postures of alert anticipation for animal sightings, but they were rare, with only a few dun-colored baboons revealing themselves.
