Clarens is a village in the Free State where hills, now browned by winter frost, give way to an undulating countryside that hugs the foothills of the Maluti mountains.
We had heard much about it and my family of five were looking forward to tranquillity in its natural splendour, about three hours' drive from Joburg's hectic life.
I had hopes the fresh air would stimulate my son's poor appetite, and looked forward to doing a little shopping. We'd been told Clarens' quaint little places were reminiscent of our own Melville's ambiance.
The drive there, via the N3, was pleasant enough. But when the signboard to Clarens eventually cropped up my husband Agmat and I were relieved. The squabbles among my trio - Uthmaan, 9, Nawaal, 11, and Layla, 4 - were starting to grate our nerves. In a bid to keep them quiet, I had resorted to putting on a movie for them on my laptop.
We had decided on the trip as we hadn't used our timeshare for a few years, and the holiday club agent had said our points were about to expire. Plus there was a 50 percent discount at Kiara Lodge, so were we interested? Of course. The kids were on school holidays, so why not?
As we approached the sloping hill overlooking the valley in which Clarens sits, Agmat slowed down so we could take in the view. Clarens did not look at all like the sleepy hollow I had imagined. On the side of the mountains were double-storey homes with sprawling grounds, and a golf and trout estate had been established.
Kiara Lodge, a timeshare resort on the road to the Golden Gate National Park, was 15km out of Clarens. Once there, we quickly headed to our lodgings to offload our bags. The sun had set and the early evening chill had set in, so exploring the town square had to wait. Our chalet was lovely and had all the basic facilities one expects in self-catering places. The wooden balcony was the best though, giving us a view of the mountains' jagged edges.
The fresh air was starting to do its work because the next day the kids woke up ravenous, even after a heavy evening meal at the lodge's restaurant. After a substantial late breakfast, we headed to the town square.
It was busy. Members of a Harley Davidson chapter had converged on the square for what looked like a charity event. Besides the rows of mean-looking Harleys, we spotted not one but three Lamborghinis that day as well dozens of SUVs.
The number of moneyed visitors sojourning in Clarens was not lost on a shop owner, who said life for villagers was changing as more people bought up properties and more development took place, eating away at the mountains. "It's just not the same now," she said with a shrug, as she gave me change for my purchase.
Cute little shops dotted the pavements, including arts and crafts places, home-industry shops selling bottled jams and chutneys, furniture stores, boutiques, and shops selling kitsch items.
In equal numbers were art galleries, sidewalk cafés and restaurants. In the four days we spent there, we whittled our favourite restaurants down to Moulin Rouge - yummy lemon meringue pies, pancakes and vegetable quiches - and Vito's restaurant, with its wonderfully creamy - and meatless - spaghetti Napoletana.
The following day, my kids were restless and were keen for something more adventurous than leisurely walking from shop to shop.
Kiara Lodge offers quad biking and buggy rides, but it was the 4x4 route, not too far from the lodge, that we wanted to try.
Signposted with little green arrows stuck on thin wooden poles, it initially seemed pretty easy - a dinky ridge here and there, winding dirt roads through the trees and a small stream, and parts of the roads that were quite rocky. We saw in the distance that the quad bikers had also decided to try the route.
We slowly climbed up a slightly steeper path, surrounded by tall grasses, and then the ground eventually plateaued. Merrily driving along, the kids and I thought that was the end of it. But my husband had other ideas.
He stopped the car, and pointed towards an area gated with wooden poles and chicken wire. There was a green arrow pointing in that direction. "Let's go that way," he suggested eagerly.
My son was keen. He was having so much fun, and happily joined me to open up the gate.
Along the way there were more arrows. This route, however, seemed to take us up higher and further into the mountains. The climb became steeper and steeper.
Still Agmat was determined to persevere and, centimetre by centimetre, we climbed. All I could see in front of me was an expanse of blue sky.
It was a struggle. I heard the click of seatbelts behind me, as the girls worriedly told each other to strap in. An acrid smell from the clutch was filling the car. We opened the windows.
It seemed to take forever but we finally made it to level ground. Then we saw more red arrows.
"I think those arrows mean this is dangerous, Daddy," said Nawaal, stating the obvious.
Too late to turn back, we continued along the red route trying to find our way down. As we neared a steep decline, Nawaal, who is afraid of heights, begged to be dropped off so she could walk back to the lodge.
Agmat and my son got out of the car to assess the path going down. "It's not so bad, Daddy. It's do-able," said Uthmaan calmly.
They climbed back into the car.
"Okay. Everybody ready?" asked Agmat, a question which split the car's occupants by gender.
Slowly our vehicle made its way down. Clutching on to the headrest in front of her, Layla said: "Oh Daddy, we might as well fall down and die now."
"Layla, you're not helping," I said.
The base of that hill was sludgy with mud as we gently skidded to a halt. But we were down.
It got easier after that and it was a relief when we finally reached the gate. The quad bikers were behind us. As Uthmaan and I opened the gate, they went through and parked alongside the fence. We overheard them say, "Isn't this the car that was stuck on the hill?"
Back at the chalet, we assessed the damage - a few scratches on the side and one flat tyre. Father and son agreed that it wasn't too bad - the experience had been worth it.
When my son asked the next day whether we could go on the route again, the girls and I screamed: "No, not ever."