The Overberg oasis that’s saving lives

Head of Travel, Ryan Vrede, took two of his closest friends to a secluded Overberg retreat. It turned out to be life changing.

I recently spent two days at The Black Barn with two of my closest friends, Julio and Bevan. We connected, cooked, shared a few cold brews, and made the most of the private beach. On the surface, it was a simple getaway. In truth, it was something far more important.

My unspoken objective for the time away was to create space — real space — for the boys to disconnect from the heaviness of their daily lives. 2025 has been an extremely hard year for both of them.

Without sharing details that aren’t mine to tell, they are grieving in different ways. And I am too. As men, we haven’t spoken about those experiences in the ways we probably should have.

We’ve carried them quietly, independently, and the weight has become crushing. I came across a line that said, “Most men live lives of quiet desperation.” I felt that deeply, and so did Jules and Bevan.

I’m writing this in early December, at the tail end of a year that has taken more than it has given. That made the getaway essential to our well-being — not a luxury, not a recreational whim, but a necessary intervention.

The right environment mattered, and The Black Barn, set in the Romansbaai Private Reserve about two and a half hours from Cape Town, proved to be exactly that.

What makes The Black Barn special is that it manages to be many things at once. A group of friends can gather here to unwind. A family can settle in for world-class accommodation and scenic calm. A couple can use it as a base to explore the Overberg. Remote workers can escape their usual spaces for a workation with views that reset the mind.

For us — a tested triumvirate — it was a place of peace. Nothing more complicated than that.

The house facilitates a kind of togetherness that doesn’t need ceremony. On our last night we played 80s and 90s classics, marvelling at how many musical giants shaped those eras. We sat around the outside braai romanticising our sporting primes and laughing — loudly — at the foolish lengths we went to for a bit of teenage attention. We spent an hour in the outdoor wood-fired hot tub, climbing in too soon and climbing out too late, emerging as three mildly cooked men with questionable decision-making skills.

The kitchen became its own bonding ritual. It’s spacious enough to cook comfortably together — something that’s underrated in the way it builds connection. But the beauty of the space is that it also allows for privacy. Each room has a generous en suite bathroom, finished to a standard that rivals any high-end stay. After shared meals and shared moments, retreating into your own room for a hot shower, a series binge, an afternoon nap, or, in my case, writing, felt natural and restorative.

The lounge area is a sink-into-it kind of space — large, warm, inviting. And if solitude means movement for you, the private reserve delivers. A run or a walk through Romansbaai offers the kind of quiet most of us forget we need. Pro tip: take the path down to the private beach, sit for a while, and let the silence work on you.

We spent a few hours on that beach on our second day. We swam in ocean water that was mercifully warmer than Clifton’s, then settled into the sand with a couple of Coronas. Jules and Bevan drifted off at different points, wandering down the shoreline alone. I didn’t ask what they were thinking about; I was just grateful they finally had the space to think at all.

More and more, I’m noticing how many men I care about are navigating incredibly tough seasons. I don’t want to generalise, but my instinct — and experience — is that most men respond to pain and disruption with deeper isolation. The shame of a divorce. The desperation of losing a job. The sudden passing of someone you love. The collapse of a relationship you thought would last forever. These moments can break a man if he doesn’t have people willing to stand in the storm with him.

We’ve been conditioned to mind our business. To stay out of it. To push through quietly. But I’ve learned that I am, in fact, my brother’s keeper. I cannot be passive in their pain. Sometimes that looks like sitting next to them in silence while they cry. Sometimes it’s listening without trying to fix anything. And sometimes it looks like packing the car, driving out to a beautiful home in the Overberg, and just being there — fully, intentionally, without the noisy world intruding.

That’s what The Black Barn gave us: a place where presence became the priority. A place where friendship was enough. A place where three men carrying heavy things could put them down, even briefly, and breathe again.

For some, it will be an escape. For others, a basecamp for adventure. For us, it was a reminder — gentle but profound — that healing sometimes begins in simple spaces, shared with the right people.

And that peace is still possible.

Be sure to use the code #capetownetc15 when booking a minimum 2-night stay for up to six people at The Black Barn to receive a 15% discount.