This part of South Africa is like a vast magnet drawing in a mass of metal-filing moneymen. It is gorgeous, a sort of South African Cotswolds, all antiques and vineyards and award-winning restaurants, a kind of prehistoric landscape now perpetually pickled in apricot coulis. The newest number irresistibly pulled towards it is Brit Laurence Graff, one of the biggest diamond dealers in the world. And he’s raked in David Collins, hotel default wonderman, to produce a sideline puff project of considerable beauty. The villas are a modern split from the usual in this area, with walls covered in grass cloth and lots of polished plaster. The art here alone is worth the journey: lots to gawk at, including pieces by local artists William Kentridge and Sydney Kumalo, who Saatchi has his eye on. The problem is how close it is to the road – however lovely it is to be offered hen or duck or goose eggs at breakfast, you can still hear it. Book the two-bedroom Owner’s Villa – it’s terrifically handsome and, most importantly , it’s totally tucked away from the broom-broom.

Of all the properties in South Africa, the biggest hitters are served up by Liz Biden. And if you want safari thrills with proper privacy – like Bono, like Elton John – then you come here to Africa House, a spot that sleeps 12 and is part of ultra-sophisticated Royal Malewane. You can tick off the Big Five – elephants flump by as you eat lunch – but the guides are more than that: bush rock gods who’ll teach you about dwarf stars and chameleons, termites and fig trees. It’s like falling in love with nature and then coming back and embracing a whole different type of creature comfort. The linen sheets are pressed daily; there are Persian rugs and thatched roofs, tables loaded with books about bushmen and for supper grilled impala like melting velvet. Everyone blossoms here.

Very few tented camps in Africa tend to negotiate the line between rustic and smart to lickety-split well; it’s got the canvas, but it’s also got the polished wooden floors the colour of conkers. This place is owner managed, which shines through: Tracy is always on site to ask what you want for supper or tell you about some cheetah cubs she saw this morning, it’s great for teenagers because it’s possible to get very involved: visit the local orphanage for a sing-along or a spot of drawing or take a trip with Tracy’s friend William, who’s vet – book in with him and you might find yourself going on a chopper ride to dart some elephants. Or go for a walk and focus on nothing but magic plants: plants full of antioxidants, plants to help your tummy, plants that suppress your appetite (grab a bag to take home, fine, but don’t bother here – there are wonderful kudu wraps for lunch). You just don’t feel like a paying guest. Bush brilliance.

The problem with this brilliant lodge is it is often overlooked because the Kruger is so awash with fancy, swashbuckling properties. It’s always been small, always about the experience, and always goes the extra mile. Leopards making a kill at dusk, a stand-off between two male lions and four white rhinos scratching and rootling – even the safari-smug are astounded to see all this within 24 hours of arriving; the phenomenally energetic ranger Gary can take a Land Rover anywhere, and will. There are only eight air-conditioned, glass-fronted rooms, each with its own viewing deck and plunge pool, deliberately more safari than SW1. Food is frisky too; there’s warthog and barbecued crocodile (tastes like chicken, obviously). It’s a personal place, a place that delivers, yet gets under the skin of the game and Africa.

What’s been lacking here for 20 years, completely curiously, is a hotel on the beach. Camps Bay is like Rio’s Ipanema, the hip hub where you find all the best restaurants, the great bars, the cute little bikini shops. And POD is in the seaside centre of it. It’s beautiful, with only 15 rooms, all glass, textured African woods and unpolished slate. Book an ocean-view room (essential), then there’s the great blue blast of the Atlantic crashing from dawn until dusk. The lovely staff will bring sunbeds down onto the beach, with baskets full of suncream and bottles of champagne; there are volleyball games to watch and footie and surfers in their wetsuits chasing off the chill. The owner is a mine of information – where to get the best fish; how to fly home the fabulous painting you’ve bought. In the evenings, there are Sauvignon Blanc sundowners and rows of mini sushi. By finally filling the gap, this place is already a hit with designers and creatives. Get the hotel to book you a table at the Grand. An old house with stripped wooden floors and chandeliers, it’s the busiest restaurant in Cape Town, always packed to the rafters and, crucially, just a hop, skip, jump from here. Intelligent and thoughtful shoreline kicks.

Rather how you might imagine Donna Karan’s beach house in the Hamptons to look. It’s good to know that, in this crazy guns-and-drugs city (but an essential stop-off to and from safari sybarism), there’s a deeply stylish retreat. Ensconced in gorgeous jasmine-filled gardens, behind high walls in Jo’burg’s answer to Bel Air, is a place to loll about by the pool. It’s completely relaxing and intimate (with only 10 bedrooms), like an elegant house party. They airy rooms are kitted out in grey and cream linens; white wooden-slatted blinds keep out the bright Africa Sun. It makes you want to completely redo your own house immediately – the detail, the materials, he simple, elegant, grabbable high-endness of it. For exploring, a chauffeur-driven car glides guests to and from the best shops and restaurants (there are lots of both). Back at the house, you feast on whatever you want – simply tell the chef what you fancy. (He’s exceptionally good at fish – a godsend after a week of hardcore carnivoring in the bush). Plans are afoot to open a spa and gym in the New Year, tempting regulars to stretch out their stay.

A small, super-sophisticated camp in the middle of the Kapama. Take over the Zindoga Villa, fun and gorgeous –Jurassic Park meets White Mischief – with mosquito-netted four-posters, jazzy zebra-print rugs. Chintzy armchairs and huge, origami-like fruit displays. Cleverly, the two double rooms (there is also a smaller twin for little creatures) have their own plunge pools, so you don’t have to share with your friends and the children are safe. There’s a ranger on call 24 hours a day, which means none of those gruesome regimented early-morning wake-up calls. Sleep in, visit the spa for a massage – and you’re not made to feel like a philistine. At night ride out on one of the camp’s elephants for stiff gins in the middle of nowhere. It’s bliss to feel the animal’s bark-like skin while wandering back at the end of a long, dusty day.