Bienne Huisman pays a visit to Port St Johns and reckons a part of her is now forever with the Jewel of the Wild Coast

Port St Johns is a nostalgic place with memories of battles and bravery and various shallow graves. Some say you can still hear the cries of warriors ringing from the cliffs that sur-round the town, and the anguished pleas for help from shipwrecked passengers along the coast.

"Here, spirits cannot be contained in a glass," a local told me, stiff whisky in hand.

The nearby forest rustles with magic; muddy springs that promise eternal youth, water holes where ancestors maintain a constant vigil, and plants that can cure anything from arthritis to broken dreams.

The heart of the town is a combination of former colonial grandeur and modern-day Third World bustle; chickens nestle on once-grand patios and music pours from taverns next to churches in various stages of decay.

Port St Johns is a collision of cultures and extremes, with poverty and pollution an integral part of its subtropical tapestry. It's home to subsistence farmers, hospitality industry operators, and scores of travellers who arrived a long time ago and simply never left.

This condition of indefinitely extended visits to Port St Johns is well documented - it goes by the name of "Pondo Fever"- and is reminiscent of the famous line in The Eagles song Hotel California: "You can checkout any time you like, but you can never leave."

With this in mind I set out on a road trip from Durban to Port St Johns. But there were pressing concerns; a severe cold front had blown in that week, glazing the patchwork roads with sheets of water and clogging the radio airwaves with dire warnings.

By 5pm the landscape had descended into darkness and fog and rain quivered in my hatchback's headlights, along with the occasional livestock and the tail-lights of a couple of overloaded bakkies.

By the time I arrived at the Amapondo Backpackers Lodge my nerves were frayed, but relaxation set in once I had a sat down at the blazing fire, beer in hand.

A man from Butterworth assembled the largest potjiekos I have ever seen. The lodge's beautiful owner, a pixie-sized brunette, fluttered around and some American tourists danced on tables, others played poker.

That night I fell asleep to the drumming of raindrops on the corrugated-iron roof. The next morning I awoke to daylight streaming through the window. I hadn't bothered to close the curtains the night before, and from my bed I could make out rondavels along the Bululo River and cattle lazing on the beach below.

I stumbled from my room and joined some early risers at the lodge's considerable stoep for coffee. We decided to make the most of the break in the weather and headed to a cave in the forest.

Here we took turns to sip sulphurous spring water - believed to have strengthening powers - from a plastic cup offered by a woman in exchange for a small fee. Some braved the cold and painted their bodies with mud that is said to be good for the skin.

We took a drive up a rutted road through a village sprawled on a cliff, past Millennium Bar - Port St Johns's famous tavern - to a viewpoint that offered breathtaking vistas of the sea and emerald-cloaked hills.

I decided to walk back to the lodge, breathing in the fresh sea spray. It started to drizzle again, and the rest of the day was spent leisurely eating seafood, drinking wine and, well, unwinding.

I had to leave the next day. With Hotel California playing in my head I checked out. But in my heart I haven't left; a part of me will always be in Port St Johns.

Getting there:  Port St Johns is roughly a four-hour drive from Durban. Take the N2 to Port Edward, and from there the tarred but sketchy R61, passing through Bizana and Lusikisiki.

What it has: The Amapondo Backpackers Lodge is perched on a hill overlooking Second Beach on the town's outskirts. It costs R300 a night for a basic room. For more details call 0475641344 or visit www.amapondo.co.za.

Why go : Eccentricity, far from the madding crowd, raw nature on your doorstep and a variety of activities. A note to wary travellers: I went by myself and it was quite safe.