I am sitting at home, unpacked, washing machine going merrily (with possible clogged pipes tomorrow, full of desert dunes), the dogs have now licked every available piece of skin they could find on my feet and legs, and the blurry photos have been deleted.
I know, I know, you’re thinking, what happened to Darling? Little known fact, I actually lived in Darling for years, and have a house there, where my mom lives. So I went to Darling, I just did not visit Evita. I forced my poor mom to sit through 1784 photos, which took me an hour to setup on the laptop as a slide show (and don’t be shaking your head now, we have all put poor unsuspecting souls through this same torture of a pictorial review of our just completed holiday!). Mom is 81. Ten photos later, she was yawning, and recalling when my Dad could not buy cool drink at the Lamberts Bay Hotel, because he was not wearing a tie. This was in 1950. And by photo 1531 she was actually nodding away.
She snapped right out of that again when I mentioned that my writing has been put on the internet. “How did you get it there?” she asked. Well, I have this dongle thing, it is like calling on a cell phone, but instead of using my voice, it sends text. “Yes, but how did you get it to land on the internet?” I emailed it to the office, and they pasted it on there. “No, that’s not possible, there’s no cable or aerial. So, how did you get it on there?” Ok, Mom, focus. My stuff was on the internet, don’t worry how I got it there. And people I don’t know read it. “How did they know to read it? Did somebody call them?”. Laugh all you want, you try and explain the internet, and wireless, and Facebook to somebody who worked in DOS years ago for two months! And now she wants to buy a laptop, so she can find recipes and needle point patterns on there. She can barely send an sms yet! I am keeping myself out of that little debacle!
Luckily, my brother is one of the people who actually read this, so there was no need to explain this to him. But he is actually a Mr Twitcher. He has 14.5 bird books and promptly downloaded all my photos, and is most probably sitting as we are speaking, identifying all the shots I took of avian life in the Kalahari! And he faithfully read my story every day: Hey Boet!
The recap done with the family I now sit and reflect on my absolutely Epic adventure.
I met some amazing, and odd people! The game spotters in the Kalahari, some from close, some from far, all were there with one purpose, to see wildlife. In each other or in the bush there are questions not fully answered yet, but still.
The two drunk Frenchmen, who took their lives in their own hands by getting out of their car next to lions, and to offer me drinkies, after I sat in the sun for three hours next to said Lions.
The people of Kenhard, who stepped into the 21st century, and had their first interracial wedding the evening I was there and let me tell you, it was a big makietie! I actually also met a true wildlife photographer, Hannes Lochner, from the back seat of a land cruiser, but still, I met the man, I saw his photos, and let me tell you, he actually lives permanently in the Kgalagadi. One can see that. Ok, I did not actually meet him per se, more like waved at him. He would not know me from a bar of soap!
Then the crazy kayak people from Khamkirri, who really fell with their career bums in the butter, seeing as they live right next to the river where they can practice and enjoy their passion! Kayaking you sickos!
One can say I nearly met Lord Milner’s wife. Thank goodness I did not! And one can say I nearly met the Polish space people as well, but seeing as they do it all remotely from Poland, also not.
I am very sure I met an Alien, but they wiped my memory after they did the tests and stuff, and concluded that there is intelligent life down here!
The seafood man from Lamberts Bay, the laughing locals in Brandvlei, farmer Jnr and his dog, the perpetually late gate keeper at Kgalagadi, the old man with the road phobias at Hyundai in Upington, and all in all, most of the road workers between Keimoes and Kakamas!
The places were a revelation, and yet strangely familiar! Perhaps because I have been to most of the places before but every time, is a new time with new sights and smells. I am still looking for the broken bottle of shampoo in my car, but the smell is apparently the Katbos and Kambroo bushes from the Karoo, and not shampoo! The Bullet and I traveled from Cape fold mountains, to flat stretches with bicycle warning signs, to deep red sand dunes, and flat salt pans, all with its own appeal and enough space to actually have a thought or two. We also had very nice acoustics, hence missing the V8 engine sounds for half a day! And I swear, the higher up in altitude one goes, the higher one can sing as well. I could reach that one spectacular note with Alphaville! A couple of times. And I am technically classified as a tenor, more like James Earl Jones after the ciggies and the vodka drinking from my youth. Like Rebroff in his hey day! But I hit that high note (also nearly popped a vein in the process)!
Animals. More Animals. The strange, the furry, the bald, the evil, the lazy and the funny! My personal heroes, officially, the fantastically brave suricates! They surpassed the wild dog, cheetah, and hyena in my affection now. No other animal poses as well for photos, pulls the weirdest faces, and just generally are soo busy, they don’t have time to just sit back and hide in bushes. Oh, and the Mice. Man, the smallest little things, but Braveheart is nothing compared to them. They should really paint their faces blue as well.
And the animals were not contained to the Kgalagadi. No, baboons at du Toits Kloof, rock hyraxes next to Tankwa Karoo, raptors on telephone lines all over, seagulls, and attacking Kelp Gulls on the coast, and I even saw a klipspringer close to Citrusdal. And not to mention the one gazillion locusts who bravely died, in full battalions, on a 100km stretch in the karoo.
I do hope the two frogs from Sutherland got the feeling back in their legs, after sleeping under me for a night.
Not to forget the livestock. Chicken, geese, donkeys, peacocks, sheep (different types as well) goats, dogs, cats, cattle, emus and some horses.
And then there was Damien. My friend, the narcissist, mirror crashing bat straight out of a Meatloaf song!
I think of doing a list of what I did see, I should perhaps note what I did not see!
My final thoughts after all this excitement: One should never go on holiday with big expectations. No place, person or event would ever be able to live up to that which one built up in the head. Expect to see a nice tree, that way, the crocodile hanging from the elephants tail, while singing karaoke, will be more visible under the tree!
One should always pack medicine, that way you won’t get sick while on holiday. It is when Murphy comes calling because you have no stomach remedies, or flu medicine that things become a little on the uncomfortable side.
Prepare for the coldest ever, and think summer holiday. It takes double the space in the car, but, you won’t be caught wrapped up in your beach sarong, beach towel, oil rag and three pairs of jeans, with dishtowels around the feet, and having to shove your hands into live coals to get some heat going!
Don’t look for the big things. Keep the eyes open, the imagination running, and make up stuff in your head!
And watch out for Aliens, ghosts, and all things that can make an appearance in a Spielberg film.
(And note to self, I watch way too many movies!)
Things I have learnt:
I need to take more leave.
Unusually, after a stint like this, I do not regret not going to work for San Parks. If I did, I would still be there, and not be able to tell anybody any off this, as it would be every day. This way, I could tell everybody about my Epic Adventure, ad nauseum (the Latin rears its ugly head again).
Bullet is not a 4×4.
My tops become shorter, the more I eat! I am practically wearing a boob tube today!
And I have the coolest job of all times! I can go do stuff like this, write about it, have people go oe and aah, and still have a job when I come back!
I am back at work, broke and heart sore. But in my dreams I am running with the cheetah, lying on sand dunes, and driving a rally car on a deserted stretch of a two lane dirt track through the Karoo. With not a care in the world. In my dreams I am strapped to the roof of a Landrower, and some khaki clad Marlboro man is calling me Ms Slovakia!
In my dreams…..
( Hene, all dramatic ne!)
Please contact me on firstname.lastname@example.org for any information on the 9 Day, Cape Town to Cape Town, Karoo, Kalahari and West Coast Tour, we would love to have you on board with us!
Grab a pen and paper, or your iSheet, tablet? If nothing else close at hand, a coal from last nights braai. I am about to give you very sound, thorough advice. If you are going to come and experience the Kalaroo adventure, pack a beanie, and a scarf, and gloves, and mittens, and polar socks. Also, pack your minus 200 degrees parka. Did I mention a beanie? Scrap that, pack a balaklawa! It Is Cold! Enough said.
My morning started with the sound of a softly flowing Orange River behind my tent, and little birds cheeping… and the absence of my fingers. I first thought I forgot them somewhere again, but it is just the cold. Numbingly cold, cold. With Visions of Sutherland, I pack up the paper tent, which actually stayed quiet last night. It can also be that the Farmers Association party drowned out the sound of the Encyclopedia Britannica being crumpled up. Oh, yes, write this down as well. Do not, under any circumstances, pitch your tent a metre from the main reception/dance hall. You might have some problems with drunk farmers tumbling over your tent on the way to their carefully pitched, 1 km away, tents. And if you should have a party the previous evening, then rather pitch your tent close to a light source, and close to where you are having your party. I think I saw one farmer on the opposite side of the Orange River, sleeping on the banks, hugging a reed. I of course, slept the sleep of the dead, and, thanks to my careful wake up training from the Kalahari, woke up at 5h30 AM, with a vague desire to have some coffee.
Two hours later, I was skulking around, trying to sniff out anybody with a little caffeine in their tents. Maybe hidden in the toilet tank. Perhaps the bar has a secret lock, and inside they store the best mocca ever. Coffeeeee! Please, just inject it straight into the veins. Finally some of the kitchen staff shows up, and I try and pull my best, “Oh, look at this poor thing, one can clearly see she needs a cup of coffee” look. To no avail. They most probably thought I had indigestion. Then I thought, if I can steal some wood somewhere, and start a fire, then I can boil water and have COFFEE! Nope, no wood. I even considered making coffee from warm tap water. Finally, after the tables were set, and farmers were all in attendance, and Bullet has been packed, and standing ready with bleary eyes, does somebody say, oh, would you like a cup of coffee? Nah, thanks, I’m ok. YES demit, can you not see the craving stamped on my forehead! Now, having to make inane conversation with a red road map eyeball farmer, about the strange weather, meanwhile it is screaming in my head, can you please just get the sugar in your cup, so that I can get to the good stuff! Finally, I had coffee. Good stuff too.
Then I heard the bad news that there is no shortcut to Niewoudville, my camp for the night. It is back to Kakamas, then to Keimoes, then down to Kenhard, Brandvlei, Calvinia, and there, finally a turn to Niewoudville. And it is about 500km. In my search for coffee, I was still standing at the Orange River at 9am this morning. But, with sad goodbyes to Phillipa and Danie, and the three kittens running around, and Sparky my canoeing guide from Mafikeng, I started the 500km journey.
Kakamas first. After my 3 hours craving, just one cup of Java would just not do it. So, I decide to turn into Kakamas town. Two streets really, please do not expect a metropolis. And there, on the side of the road, I find The Pienk Farmstall. Yes, you heard me correctly. The Pienk Farmstall. And not just the name, everything from the name board, to the lady at the till, all pink. And not just any pink, binneboud pink (inner thigh pink? Hidden part of bum pink?). And absolutely nothing of any value, or to do with a farm stall inside.
But a coffee machine! Besides the coffee machine, there was an old typewriter. Pink porcelain savings piggies, stuffed and mounted Springbok head, wearing a pink baseball cap. One spectacular sundress, surprisingly not pink. Thinking that a biscuit or some kind of baked goodies will go nicely with the machined pure half mast cup of coffee, I only find four empty serving plates. But wait, dining tables outside under the awning. So I ask the pink clad ladies, do you serve breakfast? Nope, they say. Aaa, I thought to myself, they cater for the lunch crowd. Lunch? I ask. Nope. Well, then dinner surely, nope. They don’t serve meals, but then why in all that is logical, do you have a seating area like a restaurant? Answer: In case people want to sit down (in my head, this amounts to teasing, people can bloody go sit in their cars if they want to sit). Anyhow, I walk out with some stale koeksusters, and the last biltong muffin, and I must admit, not bad. Very salty, but not bad.
Ok, rest of the driving. I swear, I have solid 8 hours sleep. Solid, despite the farmer doing a Nuck Chorris over my tent, with a double Flick Flack, side split, ending with an overhead roundhouse, so I should have been bushy tailed and very awake. My personal opinion is, it is the damn roads! 5 min into taking the long road, I feel like I have the Titanic attached to my eyelids. But I soldier on, get through Kenhard, and then had to stop about 20km’s outside of town. Not because of sleepy eyes, 20km outside Kenhard there is nothing. Some large farms, no farm houses, just grass, broken telephone lines, and a fence. That’s it. No other signs of civilization, or people living there. Yet, on the side of the road, a very clear road sign, to please be cautious of the Bicycles. Where? What bicycles? Really? You serious? I actually had to do a U-turn on the highway, to get a shot of this. I am sitting here typing, still wondering about that.
Ok, off the 500km I did, it went quiet for about 150 of those. To Brandvlei. But by then I could have just as well put Bullet on autopilot, and slept. Luckily, Brandvlei, with all five of it’s houses, do have a wide open stretch of sand, with some iffy shade trees. I pull in there, and decide to just close my eyes for a bit. An hour later, I wake up, (or possibly I snored myself awake) with two locals sitting next to Bullet, against a tree. A couple of slow blinks later confirms it is not a mirage. Two locals, and they are giggling away. Looking at the only remaining reg number plate on Bullet, the one asks me, so, you from Somerset West? My reply was, no, of course not, this is a rental car (yes, I know, I disavowed poor Bullet, but she got it), and off I sped.
Now I have been saying from the start, there is something amok with spirits and ghosts and freaky stuff in the Northern Cape. I am driving along, full sunshine, thinking to myself that I should maybe exchange the sweat pants for shorts, when it starts raining! Big drops. Not a lot, but causing me to look up, and again, I swear, clouds! And then Arabian days started. In that area are lots of pans, with no vegetation. Just sand. I see a couple of sheep to the side, trying to actually dig a hole, so close to the ground they are lying, and think, strange, why aren’t they hopping along like sheep do? When to my right, a sand storm the like I have only seen once in the Namib, approaches, and together with the sand storm is a cloud bank, with rain tinted a brown colour due to the sand storm. I did stop Bullet, who also promptly tried to start digging a hole to hide in, and just looked at this spectacular freaky bit of wind magic going on!
It was sand and dust, and rain altogether! I was actually expecting Omar Sharif on a camel to come tumbling past at least! I actually started humming the theme song to Caravans! Then a Land Cruiser drove into that whole sand water aerial mess! Bravely going where no other vehicle (except for the Nomad Truck that other time in the Namib) has ever gone! William was waving from the back seat! Spectacular! I stopped a little further down, and called farmer Tractor Wagon, to arrange for the meeting re the tractor wagon trail at Niewoudville. He says, lady, on a Sunday, farmers sleep in the afternoon, so I would have to call him at 6am the next morning. So, nothing to rush forward to, I meander on to Niewoudville, in pouring rain, glad I have my sweat pants on!
Then I get another urge for coffee. Luckily in Calvinia, the local petrol attendant has a kettle. Working like an Old Model T Ford, but still working. Thirty minutes after starting it, we had liftoff, and I had a flask full of coffee. Only to arrive in Niewoudville sooner than I could get a cup poured. But, 500km, not to be sneezed at, so I am rather tired at this point, and not one soul to be seen on the streets, or rather, street, of Niewoudville. A little like Tommy Knockers. I find Olive camp ground, get the gate open, drive around to the back, and am greeted by, wait for it, a chicken! And an aggressive chicken at that! And following close behind him, two Peacocks! Tommy Knockers!
Calling the number on the gate gets me through to the owner, who it seems, owns most of the town. He directs me to the Smidswinkel restaurant, where one lady waits. Shame, I don’t know what she does on weekends there, but definitely not gather with a sociable group or something fun like that. No other people! And then comes the good news, I don’t have to stay in the camping ground, they prepared one of the guest houses for me! Great! Historical house, restored. With no other soul in town? AAAAaaaaaargh, Matjiesfontein all over again! I start a fire, which cheers me up slightly, make a massive amount of food, which cheers me up even more, and then the sun sets. And still, no sound. No wind through the trees, no sound of kids playing, grownups talking. Only a sad sheep baaaaaa coming from two houses down. The last ciggie I had, I was huddled in the corner of the stoep. Trying my best not to give off body heat, or a heartbeat! You know they can find you like that!
- Tosca’s Epic Kalaroo Adventure … Wet, wild and very muddy! (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
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