After a late arrival on a long-haul flight, there are few comforts as reassuring as a real table laid for a real dinner in your suite. Not the usual room-service compromise—no balancing trays on knees, no apologetic metal domes hiding lukewarm pasta—but a fully dressed table with white linen, proper chairs, a cloth napkin folded with quiet dignity, and the gentle glow of a lamp angled just so.

At the Four Seasons Hotel The Westcliff Johannesburg, dinner arrives as if you’ve stepped into a private dining room: steaming plates, the soft clink of cutlery placed with ceremony, the warm perfume of honest cooking drifting into the suite. And a butler waiting, unobtrusive yet alert, ready to serve.

There is a particular kind of restoration in that moment. You take the first sip of a cold Stellenbosch
Chardonnay, crisp enough to slice through travel fatigue, and suddenly the long flights and the bland
inevitability of airline food dissolve. You’ve arrived—not just in Joburg, not merely on African soil, but in a
place that understands the science and art of welcome.

Well after midnight, once the table was cleared, I stepped out onto the terrace for one last glass of wine.
Johannesburg glittered purple and gold below, a city in quiet conversation with itself. Lions at the nearby
zoo roared faintly, their calls floating up the dark hillside like low thunder rolling across a plain. I slept in a
bed I wished I could fold into my camera bag and take with me.

A Hillside Refuge

The Westcliff lies about 22km—about a 40-minute drive—from O.R. Tambo International Airport, yet it
feels worlds away. One moment you’re hurtling along Johannesburg’s freeways, ribbons of chrome flashing
past; the next, your car turns onto the winding road that climbs the ridge, and the city begins to fall away in
soft, receding layers. The noise quietens. The air cools. And as the hotel’s terraced buildings appear—sand-
coloured, Mediterranean-inspired, seemingly cascading down the hillside—you feel as though you’re
approaching a quiet village that somehow forgot it lives above Africa’s busiest metropolis.

Inside, the calm deepens further. The interior design is minimalist without austerity, modern yet warm.
Rooms and communal spaces are shaped by neutral tones—stone, linen, pale timber—and by a deliberate,
almost reverent use of light. In the lobby, sunlight pours across polished floors, catching on sculptural
pieces and framed contemporary African art. The corridors are wide, not merely functional but expansive
hallways designed to let travellers drift rather than march. The architecture has breadth built into it; it
seems to whisper that space itself is a form of luxury.

In many city hotels, communal lounges feel like glorified waiting rooms. Here, they unfold like a series of
small stories: a quiet corner with a charcoal-grey sofa, another with sea-green seating; a terrace framed by
bougainvillaea; a sunlit walkway suspended above treetops. Every area acknowledges that travellers carry
different energies—some arrive wired and sleepless, others dreamy after a week of safari, a few clutching
laptops and imminent deadlines. And somehow each of them finds a seat that feels instinctively right.
“People don’t just pass through these spaces,” says a front-desk attendant, smiling as though welcoming an
old friend home. “They settle. Even if it’s for ten minutes. That’s how it’s meant to be. We must give them
room to breathe.”

The Sought-After Hill

Very quickly, the beauty of the place reveals itself to be more than architectural. It’s alive in the spirit of the
people who run it. The Westcliff has earned a near-mythical status in Johannesburg’s hospitality world.
Staff speak of it the way actors speak of their first break—half pride, half disbelief—and always with joy.
While admiring the terrace views over the treetops facing the Johannesburg Zoo, I met Noel, a waiter with
an easy laugh and the kind of intuitive attentiveness no amount of training can fully manufacture.
“You want to take pictures first,” he chuckled, seeing my camera half-raised. “Don’t worry, your coffee
won’t go cold. We’re used to this light—it makes everyone feel like a photographer.”

I asked whether he enjoyed working here.

“Enjoy?” He threw his head back, laughing. “My friend, this is the most wanted job in Gauteng!

When I told my cousin I got into the Four Seasons, he said, ‘Aowa! You? How did you manage?’ The jealousy was real.”

The competition, he explained, is fierce – hundreds apply for each opening, many with advanced hospitality
qualifications.

“It’s not just the salary or the guests or the name,” he said, lowering his voice as if confiding a secret. “It’s
the training. The doors it opens. And the feeling that we are part of something bigger. You wear this
badge,”- he tapped it – “and people know you didn’t get it by luck.”

Breakfast is a Ritual

For breakfast, Flames Restaurant becomes a kind of culinary altar. A soft golden light spills across the
terrace, and Johannesburg stretches below in a leafy mosaic. Breakfast here isn’t rushed; it feels like the
day’s opening ceremony.

I ordered smashed avocado brightened with raspberries, lime zest and rocket—simple, colourful, almost
painterly. A delicately poached egg rested on top, its yolk ready to spill like sunrise.

My cameraman, hungrier and wiser, went for the full South African spread: eggs, boerewors, beef fillet,
grilled tomato, sautéed mushrooms, avocado, a golden hash brown, and a spoonful of chakalaka, whose
warm spice rose like incense.

There were no theatrics—no towers of ingredients defying gravity, no edible flowers laid with twee
precision. Just freshness. Precision. Confidence. Food that speaks with clarity rather than clamour.

“What did you think?” our server asked as he cleared the plates.

“Perfect,” I said. “Like someone thought through every detail.”

He grinned. “That’s Flames. Nothing over the top. Just the good stuff, made properly.”

Then he leaned in, warming to his subject. “Tonight when Mevrou comes for dinner at Flames, you must try our Karoo lamb—perfectly pink. It comes with grilled aubergines that gleam like polished stones. And don’t forget the pap. Mevrou, ooooh, you must try the pap. People think pap is simple food. But our chef treats it like risotto—creamy, rich. It’s our soul food, but fancy.”

“And dessert?” I asked.

“For dessert, please have our malva pudding,” he said proudly. “It’s broken apart and reassembled – shards
of sponge, rooibos ice cream, naartjie syrup. We have guests who come back just for this. Others come
back for the view. But most…” He paused, smiling. “Most come back for the people. We know how to treat
our customers.”

Conversations on the Terraces

The terraces are the soul of the Westcliff—platforms of stone and timber that cascade down the hillside
like an amphitheatre. With the light still soft and the scent of flowering shrubs thickening the air, these
terraces become a stage for the city itself. Johannesburg shimmers and shifts—the leafy canopy of the Zoo,
the northern suburbs rising toward the horizon, the faint hum of traffic drifting upward.

This is the golden hour on the hill, and it’s a daily show.

On one terrace, a business traveller loosened his tie and stared at the skyline as if seeing it for the first
time. On another, a family in matching safari hats passed around a phone full of elephant photos, comparing them to the infinity pool below and laughing at the surreal symmetry of their day. Lovers leaned
into each other. Writers scribbled notes. Birds swooped low over the rooftops.

Everywhere, the staff moved with quiet choreography – never intrusive, always present, like the soft
punctuation marks of the space.

Why the Westcliff Matters

The Four Seasons Westcliff is far more than a luxurious pause before heading into safari country. It’s a
microcosm of South Africa’s complexities and charms—its warmth, ambition, humour, resilience, and
talent.

The hotel’s reputation as one of Johannesburg’s most sought-after workplaces isn’t just about prestige,
though that certainly plays a role. It’s the investment in people: world-class training, real career pathways,
and a sense of pride that hums through the staff like shared electricity.

“You can spend years in hotels and never feel seen,” Noel told me later, pouring me a fresh coffee. “Here,
you feel seen on day one.”

That, perhaps more than anything, is Westcliff’s true luxury. Not the minimalist design, or the views, or
even the cuisine – magnificent as they are. It’s the people who animate the place, who carry their pride like
lanterns, illuminating every corridor, every terrace, every guest interaction with a sincerity that cannot be
faked.

And when you finally descend the hill, returning to the thrum and sprawl of Johannesburg proper, you
realise you’re leaving with more than memories of comfort and beauty. You’re leaving with the warmth of
South Africans themselves—generous, open-hearted, and always ready with a smile that feels like an
invitation to return.

W: Four Seasons Johannesburg