True to tradition, every time the owners of Greyton Forest House turn off the eastern motorway and drive the scenic road that winds and glides towards the quaint little village of Greyton, their favourite family song blasts out of the windows. Emphatic pitches of “Ah, home, let me go home. Home is wherever I’m with you”, pierce the crisp valley air and catch onto the breeze that’s travelling up to the Riviersonderend mountains ahead. After a slow cruise through the town – down the old farm lanes flanked by old oaks – the singing stops with the engine, and the car keys flung away for the duration of their stay. Another customary policy in place – they’re only ever on foot or on saddle when they venture off the premises. A quintessential trait of the town where laissez-faire living is as inherent as the abundance of charisma and nature that prevails in this little hamlet.
