Review: Melote House, South Africa

People often ask: don’t the hoteliers know you’re coming?  Doesn’t that make the review biased?  You’d be surprised how many don’t — and how many still screw it up when they do.  But at Melote House, it was different.  They definitely knew I was coming.  Because they definitely didn’t want me there.  It’s a tale as old as time: boy meets hotel, hotel says you’re not staying as we don’t want you to write about us, boy doesn’t take no for an answer and eventually wins them over with his dazzling personality — or they got desperate and wanted the cash.  Like Anora, or something.

It’s weird staying somewhere that actively didn’t want you there.  But the moment they changed their minds — for reasons no one ever explained — Melote House morphed into this impossibly warm, all-embracing family.  Suddenly it’s hugs, high-fives, a bit of arse-slapping, and a shared sense that we’re now better than everyone else.  Basically, CrossFitters.

It’s one of the best safari lodges I’ve stayed at, one of Africa’s best exclusive-use properties, and it will rightfully earn its rankings amongst the greats, once this review goes live and the entire world reads it.  Or at least the five Nigerian princes who keep emailing me.

But all this does raise the question: what the hell was going on before that made them so keen to keep me away?  That’s one of those “how the sausage is made” mysteries I’m happy to leave unsolved.  Let’s ignore that and focus on the here and now.

Never investigate the origin story of your lunch.

Getting there

I had to badger the shit out of them to let me come — but come, I did.  Another ban bites the dust.  In fact, it was my last remaining ban, as the only other place that blacklisted me has now also seen the light.  Or walked into it, thus there’s no one left to defend them.

And credit where it’s due: once they let me in, they were on it.  The lodge manager WhatsApped me before arrival, and every enquiry was handled brilliantly, including sorting out activities in advance, which I usually never bother with.  But here, thanks to the one-of-a-kind experiences on offer, it felt good to plan.  Things like rhino notching and elephant collaring were being teased.

This was my first time chartering in South Africa, which saved a bucket load of time in not having to take a car to another terminal and then wait around.  We were helped off the commercial flight, on our private plane less than an hour later, and touching down at the airstrip just 45 minutes after that.  You can even drive it in around three hours – or two, if you read speed limits the way I read terms and conditions.

Setting 

Melote House sits in Lapalala, a vast reserve that started in the 1980s when a few chaps began buying up farmland and letting nature take it back.  What was once cattle country is now 118,000 acres of a conservationists wet dream — no livestock, no mass tourism and no piece of shit poachers.  Just you, the landscape, and whatever might be watching you from behind a tree.

The entire focus of the project is conservation, with the target of becoming the largest private reserve in South Africa, competing with Tswalu in terms of scale and conservation ambition.  They’re buying up more and more land.  And water.  The Palala River cuts through it all, adding hippos and crocs to the cast.

Melote House is tucked amongst all of this, with the added bonus that you’ll probably never see another guest.  Because you are the only guest.  Well, technically, there are two lodges on the reserve, with the same owners: Noka and Melote. Noka has five rooms and is more your traditional lodge experience.  But Melote is exclusive-use only, and the best place for me to be, as it keeps me away from other guests.  And it feels extremely isolated.  The only man-made light we saw from the property was a single glimmer, in one direction, once.

Wildlife-wise, you get the full Big Five, plus cheetah, wild dog, which I’m hearing everyone starting to try and brand as the Magnificient Seven.  And I hate them all for it.  They also have a pangolin rehab centre, which is nowhere near as sex, drugs and rock’n’roll as a normal one.

There is a massive focus here on conservation, without anything being shoved down your throat and made to feel guilty for existing.  Not only does Lepogo (parent company of Melote House) push everything back into conservation, they help fund the Lapalala Wilderness School, which teaches kids about conservation, and are focused on restoring cheetahs and wild dogs to these lands.  Basically, going to Melote House makes you a goddamn hero, son.

Facilities

The house is enormous — truly massive — but somehow still manages to look like it belongs here, despite having one helluva contemporary design.  The mud walls were made using earth dug up on-site, the colours pull straight from the landscape and there’s no attempt to mimic old safari tropes: no thatch, no colonial throwbacks, not a hint of dark wood.  This is a safari lodge of the now and future.

The architecture is semi-subterranean, built into the slope of the land with living roofs planted in native grasses.  It’s more about blending in than showing off, but it still manages to achieve both.  And while “indoor-outdoor living” usually sounds like proper bollocks, it’s the best way to describe Melote House — wide verandas, open-plan lounging spaces, and an infinity pool all flow from the main indoor areas.

Yes, it’s huge — though with eight bedrooms, a lot of that scale is just accommodating beds.  It’s split across four levels.  You enter at the top, where the spa is (which felt like an odd place to put it).  One level down is the master suite, then below that the main guest suites, including the two-bedroom cottage.  And finally, right at the bottom, there’s one more suite and a room for guides or pilots.  It’s a lot of house.

There are really three main hubs to the house, but the lower level is the main hub — home to the main pool.  In total, there are three pools across the property, all heatable to a glorious 30°C.  There’s a rock pool near the gym, and a small private plunge pool in the master suite — for when you need a break from your own family.

Back to that lower level: it’s vast, open, and beautifully designed — flooded with light and filled with oversized dining tables, a proper bar, a wine cellar, and a sprawling lounge area.  Just off to the side is a snug little library.  Outside, there’s a sunken fire pit, more dining areas, more sofas, and a pizza oven, and that main pool.

A short walk away is a proper viewing deck over the watering hole, near a watering hole, which at one point was home to hundreds of buffalos, who showed up like a flash mob.  I would have preferred an actual hide, as Singita Pamushana has made me obsessed with them.

Just down from the spa is another building, housing a reception area, which is odd.  Private homes don’t need a check in counter.  It’s stuck between the boutique and the conservation museum, so you can both shop and feel smug about saving the planet in one pass.

I can’t emphasise enough just how much space there is — and how empty it felt with just the four of us rattling around in it.  But one thing I suggested was creating a few more breakout areas.  Right now, almost everything revolves around the lower level, and while it’s beautifully done, it could use some variety.  Other lodges offer little tucked-away nooks and hideouts — spots to escape to for a coffee, a book, or just five minutes of pretending you’re not travelling with your own children.  Here, it’s all a bit too centralised.

Gym & Spa

Yes, there is a gym.  Let’s call it efficiently compact.  It feels like a placeholder — two treadmills, some weights, and designed by an architect whose spouse must have left them for a personal trainer.  Never again.

The spa has two treatment rooms: one single, one for couples.  It’s housed in a separate building near the entrance, which feels a bit detached from the rest of the house, both literally and in terms of the atmosphere and design.  It’s a shame they didn’t include a sauna, steam or plunge pool here.  I’m sure there was all kinds of architectural reasons, but the spa being separate to everything else definitely makes sense, but then it doesn’t play into it in any way, as in it’s not an impressive area, it’s not opened up, it doesn’t offer much other than being an area with two rooms in it.

Lucie’s had a treatment, which involved no consultation, straight into the treatment, and was completely ignored regarding the preferred pressure.  Not the finest offering, as I later found out.  If she wanted a mystery massage roulette, I could’ve gone to a hotel with a day spa and a Groupon.

Thanks to a discreet perimeter fence there’s no worry about large mammals wandering into the spa while you’re mid-massage.  It’s gated, which might not sound very wild, but it does mean you can walk around the house without accidentally bumping into a lion.  Or worse: another guest.

For a new property, the spa and gym are notably weak, especially when compared to one of last year’s best openings, Wild Hill.

Room

The house has six bedrooms in the main building, plus the two in the Cottage.  So yes, just the eight bedrooms for the four of us.

The rooms are all very similar in style (which is to say gorgeous), with five of them near identical.  The three that stand are the two-bedroom cottage, which has a kitchenette, plus a living area between each bedroom, which is ideal for hanging out.  The Master Suite is perched at the highest point and comes with its own plunge pool (more plunge than pool, but still).  It’s got a proper open-plan lounge, automatic doors to the terrace, and a staircase up to a sky bed.  I’m sure it’s romantic and magical and all that — I just don’t like the idea of sleeping outside, not since we ran over that fisherman with a hook for a hand.

We considered staying in the Cottage — it’s a separate two-bedroom setup with its own central living room, which would’ve been perfect for a family.  A little private retreat within the retreat.  But in the end, it was just a bit too far from the main area.  And I’m really only talking maybe another 50m.  But when you’ve got young kids and know you’ll be shuttling back and forth for forgotten toy rhino’s, and whichever shoe someone has just decided they have to wear, convenience wins.

Instead, we stayed on the second floor, where there are four identical suites, two of them interconnecting.  For anyone with small kids, it’s ideal — no complicated floorplans, just straight-line access from one tantrum to the next.  Each suite has a terrace, a walk-in wardrobe behind the bed, and a small indoor sitting area (read: two chairs and a desk near the bed).

It’s unfair to focus on the size of the rooms, as truth is, you come in here to sleep, the main areas are so vast you will spend most of your time there.  But, I shall mention it – they are not massive (except the master suite), but perfectly adequate.  What would be fair to mention is their attempt to kill me.  Some parts of the room always, and I mean always, surprise me as I walk across them in my socks and temporary turn into the world’s worst ice skater, like Bambi in socks.

Bathrooms offer indoor and outdoor showers, a bath, and double vanities.  I still prefer a bathroom that isn’t integrated into the bedroom space, but I didn’t hate it.  What I do hate are open-plan toilets — so we’re good here.  But no Toto or even bidet.  I don’t get how in 2025 when AI is coming for every job on the planet, that wiping my arse isn’t one of them.

There’s air conditioning in every room, praise Jesus, although I did need to get someone to explain it to me as it never seemed to hit the right number until too late in the night.  Motion sensor lights in the toilet come on automatically, which sounds convenient until you try to sneak in at 2am and get hit with full interrogation lighting.  Make it optional, please.

Blackout blinds are exceptional.  Plugs next to the bed, easy light switches — you’d be amazed how many luxury lodges fail at the basics.  Not here.  Even the mosquito net setup is done properly — you can leave the main doors open, drop the net, and embrace nature without it chewing your face off.  Each suite has a skylight above the bed — hit a button and watch the stars appear overhead.  Behind the bed, there’s a sliding-door walk-in wardrobe that somehow fit all our luggage — and we’re a family of four who pack like we’re fleeing the country.  All the toiletries are custom-labelled Melote House.  Everything is.  The attention to detail is utterly brilliant.

Service

The welcome alone told me we were in good hands.  Singing staff, hand-delivered, gift-wrapped presents for the kids and within minutes, the team had effectively adopted our children.  They set up an arts and crafts station by the pool, had a library of children’s books and assigned one staff member per child.  Yes, per child.  They even offered to have someone sit outside their rooms while they slept.  There were always toys around, inflatables magically appearing in the pool, someone to play with, someone to distract.  The kids felt completely at home — and Lucie and I got to have an actual holiday.

But what really stood out weren’t the big gestures, it was the constant attention to detail, and the obsession with getting things right.  I loved how they’d sneak my beloved brownies into the minibar, hidden in a miniature treasure chest.  I loved the steak knife selection at dinner, presented like we were choosing weapons before a duel.  I loved someone charging after us on the viewing deck, not because we forgot anything, but to bring Lucie a tea and me a drink.  That’s the level.

Even their turndown gifts had me begrudgingly impressed.  I’d just finished complaining about how every lodge insists on handing out me some generic turd I’ll leave behind, and every night here was perfectly wrapped gifts on the girls’ beds: matching Lepogo hats, gloves, jackets, slippers.

Of course, it’s not all flawless.  Dinner sometimes turned into a guessing game: ask what’s on the plate, watch the waiter sprint to the kitchen for answers.  Ice-cream?  “Yes, sir!”—followed by another dash to discover the flavour.  The staff seemed allergic to understanding what they were serving, so I suggested a printed daily itinerary and menu.  Nothing fancy—just a clue for everyone, staff included.

They can also be too enthusiastic.  A beautifully set bush breakfast on a raised deck had multiple staff members hovering close enough to join the family photo.  Every lodge claims you’re part of the family; this one felt ready to move into the spare room.

The pre-drive snack station looked like an afterthought: a lonely tray, a lid-less cup, and half my drink down my shirt by the first pothole.  Pastries and proper flasks, people—it’s not rocket science.  To their credit, after I pointed it out, they shifted the setup to the indoor fireplace and the whole thing went from sad to civilised overnight.

Departure was back to impressive form.  A handwritten poem—probably 98 percent ChatGPT, but at least someone bothered with the other two.  They understand the golden rule: keep the kids happy, and the adults will follow.  The entire team turned up to sing us off, and unlike the usual staged kumbaya, this felt genuine.  We knew them, they knew our kids, and for once, and it made leaving harder than expected.

Complimentary armed guard per guest – what service.

Food

Food follows the normal safari methodology of making you so fat you start to think you’re being fattened up to become the prey.  I remember our first day, at 16:30 (we normally eat dinner at 6pm for the kids), what I will describe as an eight course snackathon, and more than enough to ruin your appetite before dinner.  I loved it.

Dinner runs off a set menu with a choice of three mains.  Lunch is a family-style platter brought to the table.  And breakfast is a small à la carte setup with a few light dishes alongside a spread of cheeses, yoghurt, breads and fruit.  Breakfast does just enough to convince you you’re being healthy, before the day inevitably descends into a six-cake spiral.

But for us, as a smaller groups, this format feels rigid.  When there are only a handful of you in camp, there should be a more room for conversation.  Initially, menus were just handed to us as if those were the only choices available.  But I asked if the chef could come speak with us each day, and from that point on, everything improved.  Once we actually started talking, the kitchen got far more flexible.  Imagine that.

And most, if not all, of the dishes were superb.  Perhaps with exception of the bush breakfast, where the bread seemed to be yesterday’s attempt and my one pre-arrival request — Greek yoghurt — was mysteriously absent.

One evening they brought out the pizza oven and set up a DIY pizza station with the kids, letting them make their own from scratch.  It was messy, chaotic, and an absolute hit.  With the kids, at least.  Did I mention how damn good those brownies were?  Naturally, as I went on and on about them, they decided to change the ingredients to them, just as they gave us a massive amount for a departure gift.  I still ate them, so let this be a lesson to you all.

The food is excellent, but the format needs a bit more give.  When your guests are few and your kitchen is capable, why not lean into flexibility?  Especially when your guests include someone as annoyingly particular as me.

Activities

Ok, so you’ve travelled all the way to South Africa.  Your lodge is epic, but you didn’t come here just to drink wine and pass out in the pool.  Well, except if you’re from New Jersey.  There’s a wide range of things to do here — most of which we didn’t do, like boating and fishing, as I tend to find I’m at my best when I manage to stay awake for the experience.

The conservation activities are where this place really sets itself apart.  I did a rhino notching experience, which, if you’re wondering, is basically where they dart a rhino from a helicopter, everyone rushes in, and then you have about thirty minutes on the ground while it’s sedated to do things like take DNA samples and notch the ear for identification.  Nothing else, you pervert.  It’s part science, part adrenaline, part “am I actually allowed to be doing this?” It’s not staged, not for show; it’s real conservation work you get to witness.  And in my case, even assist.  Well, everyone else was assisting.  I made the single most feeble attempt in human history to help push over a sedated rhino, while ten men around me actually got the job done.  I also got to go in the heli afterwards, cos I was a good boy.  My dream of it being paired with an elephant tagging didn’t come through; such is the nature of real wildlife work.

We also did a K-9 anti-poaching demo — watching the dogs track a bullet casing and then find a hidden human in the bush.  It’s impressive.  It’s also depressing that any of this needs to exist, but that’s the reality: these areas need to run like a military operation.

But, my highlight was definitely the cheetah walk.  It’s a completely surreal experience, where we got out on foot, walked up to two wild cheetahs, then just sat with them.  Then walked alongside them.  Watched them casually exist, five metres away, as if we weren’t even there.  One of them weighed 70kg, which suddenly made me realise just how massive these cats can get.  And yes, I know it’s rude to ask someone their weight.

Game drives, of course, ran entirely on our schedule.  The kids usually did a morning activity while Lucie and I escaped for the evening drives, blissfully alone.  They even offer night drives with no cut-off time, which is extremely rare.  There were plenty of rhino around, and some good general game, but from a pure wildlife perspective, it was quiet.  That’s my one concern with the reserve: the game density.  But no one ever created a conservation project in the middle of a high-density wildlife area.  It’s like setting up a rat sanctuary in Times Square.  These projects often start in depleted areas specifically because they need help, not because they’re ready-made safari showrooms.

So no, this isn’t Kruger or Sabi Sands.  But we had a wonderful time, and if you care about what’s happening behind the scenes — and want to be part of it — it’s extraordinary.

Kids Friendly

This is, without question, one of the most child-friendly exclusive-use lodges I’ve ever stayed in.  Melote makes it absurdly easy for families.  The rooms interconnect — one of those brilliantly simple design choices that solves a hundred problems before they even happen.  I can’t overstate how convenient it is to have the kids just next door, and the whole setup within easy reach of the main area.  It might seem obvious, but no one else seems to have sussed that bit out yet.  The connecting rooms make logistics a dream, and the staff didn’t just tolerate the kids — they genuinely seemed to enjoy them.  Which, frankly, is suspicious.

We never had to worry about the children; they were always supervised, often by multiple people, and the whole place just felt geared toward making it easy.  However, we did come back once to find the kids plonked in front of the TV.  No, no.  If I wanted them to spend their time on holiday in front of a TV, I’d have stayed home, saved the money, and let Disney+ do the babysitting.

Looks kids friendly…

The Good

• Food
• Accommodation

The Bad

• A better gym and spa wouldn’t have gone amiss.

The Luxurious

• Stunning design
• Service
• Very child friendly
• Attention to detail
• Extremely remote
• Privacy
• Activities

Conclusion

Some things just blow my mind.  This place not originally wanting me here is one.  Wild, considering it’s awesome.  But my mind ain’t quite what it used to be.  Sometimes, just sometimes, I think: maybe I’m not the business genius I hope myself to be, having paid $50k to stay somewhere the owners didn’t originally want me to visit, just to give them free advice.  But I regret nothing.  Because when we left, we knew: it was all downhill from here.  And we were right.

The entire Lapalala area — and the company behind Melote House — is singularly focused on conservation.  Every cent goes back into it.  All of it.  That has to be commended.  But let’s put the emotion aside for a moment and judge this purely as a luxury product.

Let’s start with the obvious: Melote House is stunning.  Every bit of it — the exteriors, the interiors, the obsessive attention to detail.  The clean, modern look is much in the same aesthetic camp as Cheetah Plains.  Fittingly, they’ve even borrowed the same oversized cheetah statues.  The company name literally means “cheetah,” so the maths adds up.

I loved it straight away.  The House and hospitality were exceptional from the outset.  And it’s the best exclusive-use setup I’ve ever had with the children.  The team went out of their way to create a child friendly environment, and treated them as real guests.  Even though sometimes they are monsters.

So where does Melote sit in the ever-expanding category of Africa’s ultra-luxury exclusive-use villas?

It doesn’t have the more African feel and charm, or cinematic views of Wild Hill, nor the near-spiritual hospitality of Arijiju. But it is one hell of a property, and makes a strong case for being one of the best value top-end lodges in Africa — especially when you realise you might be one of only a handful of guests on 50,000 hectares.  That combination of price, privacy, luxury and cool activities is hard to find.  In fact, I don’t think it exists anywhere else.

Everywhere has its pros and cons — nothing’s perfect.  Wild Hill has you bouncing up and down a mountain to see an animal.  Here, you’re on a game drive in seconds.  And while places like Ol Jogi might offer even greater levels of exclusivity, they’ll also charge you more per night than a human organ.

Where does it lose marks?  The spa and gym are the letdowns.  Not bad, just clearly not designed with the same standard and ambition as the rest of the house.  I don’t need the Mecca that is Wild Hill’s spa, but something with a view, a little design intent, a bit more effort.  Think Arijiju or Kataza House: larger footprint, some strength equipment, a sense that someone actually uses it.

There’s also not much in the way of things to do at the lodge.  No paddle court, pool table, no squash, no cinema room, no shaded lounge areas where you can just disappear for an hour.  A hot tub is always appreciated, too.  Compared to Wild Hill, Leobo, Arijiju or Lengishu, which feel like playgrounds for grown-ups, Melote is more minimal.  Coming straight to Leobo, I could see how many extra places there are to just chill out, like the roof, the area by the pool that is shaded, the sunken lounge above the fireplace, it just misses that here.  I somewhat wonder if they’ll get rid of a room or two and add facilities, as even six rooms is massive.

But then again… they let me fly a drone, so ten stars.

And they were absolutely obsessed with feedback — taking notes, making changes on the fly, treating every comment like gold dust.

Melote House is already a beast of a property.  And it’s very clearly on the path to further greatness.