There are few countries in Africa which I have visited as frequently as South Africa.  At the magnificent southern tip of the world’s most exciting continent there are many places where I love to stop and few where one does better not stop. Better don’t stop at the scenic Garden Route between Mossel Bay and Storms River – you could be robbed at every lookout point. In the great Winelands, a stone’s throw from Cape Town, stopping involves other dangers: My wife and me had a fantastic wine-pairing dinner In Franschhoek, Winelands’ culinary heart. Every mouth-licking course was carefully paired with a different South African wine. Unfortunately, after the fifth or so course, we were seriously drunk. From the sixth course on, we would not have noticed of we were just served junk food. Lessons Learned: Wine-pairing may kill great food.

Many killing machines are around in South Africa: In our design-minded lodge at Kruger National Park, great Michelin-star-like food right from a cooking school in the bush was paired with a heart-breaking leopard story. Mother and cub had been together for two years. Now the mother had nurtured her cub sufficiently and taught it in the art of killing to such an extent that the cub could finally survive on its own. We had the unbelievable luck to experience the very last moment when the cub was saying goodbye to its mum, leaving mum’s territory to hopefully find its own.

Where new life starts, other lives end. Not far away from the parting of the two leopards we found an elderly lion in surely one of its last days. The once proud male looked desperate, his face bloody and desolate after a fight with one or several other younger males which had probably conquered his pride and territory. Now the old male, formerly a killing machine himself, was waiting for his end, with the vultures already circling above, waiting for their meal below. For great food you do not have to venture out into the bush or the Winelands. I love Cape Malay food from the colorful Bo-Kaap quarter in Cape Town. The recipes for the delicious curries and samoosas once came with slaves brought from East Asia. The fateful Dutch masters are also responsible for another local feast: Braai and Boerewors, fantastic South African barbecue. Even delicious food can have a dark past.

In Africa‘s by far richest nation, the good life and the bad life are always neighbours: I picniqued at a classical concert on the lush green lawns of Kirstenbosch, one of the great botanical gardens in the world. Gourmet picnic food, crisp Sauvignon Blanc and a mindblowing setting on the eastern slopes of Table Mountain. A mere 20 kilometers further east, at Khayelitsha, I watched the great theatre of true African life, with vibrant street markets and great-spirited people who had to brave living in overcrowded shacks with no running water and overflowing and smelly sewage. I left before sunset since friends had warned me that Khayelitsha was not safe at night. Only candles were trying to compensate the lack of electricity. Gangs were rampant. Back in the posh neighborhood of Camps Bay where I stayed at my friend’s posh house, I felt like being on another planet. This planet was beautiful but its empty streets with no one in sight except uniformed watchmen and the occasional cleaning lady walking to her workplace, lacked my beloved African vibe. You can’t find the rainbow nation on this side of Cape Town.

The next day I woke up to incredible morning light, dipped into my friend’s infinity pool and traded stories with her about the power of travel. There are few soulmates who are sharing my travel spirits like she does. On this legendary afternoon of 2006, I went to play frisbee with my friend’s love. Imani had told me that with her (beautiful) dark skin she was sometimes feeling that she did not belong here. But she felt she at least belonged to the beautiful beach! The sun was painting the Twelve Apostles in golden red. Imani played frisbee like a goddess. She jumped like a ballerina and ran like a gazelle into the ocean, just to catch my misguided frisbee. Imani loved to pose and became my photography’s dream, while the sun was dropping like a golden ball into the ocean. Later, we sipped South African sparkling wine, Methode Cape Classique from Boschendal, in a bar between Clifton and Sea Point. I learned that I had the pleasure of photographing one of South Africa’s premier fashion lingerie models. Life was good.

The bright side of Cape Town may represent one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But for me, the heart of South Africa beats in Johannesburg. And it beats particularly loud in Maboneng, a party-town-turned-former no-go-area which unites an otherwise still racially divided city. One Saturday night, on great rooftops offering views of the Joburg skyline and at several backyard parties I saw half of the rainbow nation boozing, schmoozing and dancing. I thought of Nelson Mandela, one of the greatest men ever living, who colleagues told me started to dance when it was raining. I love his promising words: A winner is a dreamer who never gives up.