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 email@example.com 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)
- Tosca’s epic Kalaroo Adventure… kaalgat in the Kalahari! (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s Epic Kalaroo adventure … telescopes, toads and technical driving! (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s epic Kalaroo Adventure… The Slaughter of the Small Folk! (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s Epic Kalaroo Adventure… the massacre! (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s Epic Kalaroo Adventure… Bravely going where only one mad bat would not fear to fly! (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s Epic Kalaroo Adventure… Damien the demon and other baby beasts (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
- Tosca’s Guide to National Park People Watching (nomadafricaadventuretours.wordpress.com)
I don’t know what day it is. I have lost count.
Oh yes, the day I leave the Kgalagadi. Oe, sad. I have my last coffee, leave the gate, and as I do my last drive, I just want to rock myself to sleep I am sooo sad, did I tell you I nearly got eaten by a leopard? I decided on a last game drive, early morning. The gate lady, who on a previous occasion, was 2 minutes late in opening the gate, asked me if I can open the gate to the park, when I go through, as she was running a little late this morning. Again. This is about 1km from the camp itself. Yes, of course. I am like a local by now, I can open the gate! I get there, still semi dark, and I make like, !Ku!?, The Busman tracker, and spot some Serval tracks at the gate. Oh fantastic, you Field warden you, spotting something like that! As I drive that first bit after the gate I nogal keep an eye out for the said Serval (that’s the cat with the pointy ears. Like Dr. Spock, just not as handsome. No, the new Dr. Spock! Not William Chatners buddy! Demmit, I am not that old! First Dr. Spock is living in a nursing home in Florida! Or the cat could have been an African Wild cat, or Civet. Wait, the Civit is possibly the Dr Spock look alike).
Anyhow, back to my bush signs interpretation! After my 5 Lion spot, I drive back to camp, and very sad, crying quietly in the corner of Bullet, I meet up with two South Africans. Now important to note that it was South Africans, as two days prior, a German(?) lady pointed out the 5 cheetahs as: there are some animals lying under a tree. And true as Bob, that evening, somebody (?) put up the leopard spot on the sighting board for the exact same spot as the cheetahs were in. So, not trusting anybody but a South African anymore with vital info like this. Back to the story, two South African guys tell me, they saw two Leopard that morning, at the main gate! Yes, that gate. Leopard, not Serval, not Civet, not even Dr. Spock! Leopards! I could have died, I could have been Leopard fodder!
Ok, sob fest over. I leave the park, take some nice shots of dunes and stuff, and then tackle the 250km to Upington. Lawn capital. And place of dodgy lamb chops, that gives one food poisoning.
First things first, Bullet gets down on bended knee, no, wheel, and kisses the tar! I heard smacking noises. In fact, I think there was some tongue involved!
20km later, I am so sleepy, I can barely keep my eyes open! And the road there is flat. Not only flat (I mentioned flat yes?) but not a single thing along the way to distract. No highway robbers, no GQ men’s show, no farm stalls with funny farm implements. Nothing. I played tunes, I yawned, I sang with the tunes, I yawned some more, honestly, I don’t know how I made it. But, there it is, Upington! First order of business, get Bullet to a Hyundai doctor! Thinking of the prime plan, I don’t watch as carefully as I normally do with side roads joining the main road I am on and some bloody nincompoop eases over a stop street, right in front of me, and then does not try and stop. No, he meanders on by, not even putting up a semblance of stopping. I slam on brakes, still have a cramp in my calf from the pressure force, and nearly pee in my pants! Of course, language in the Bullet at that moment, should never ever be repeated in public. Not even in the bathroom when one is alone. You Bloody @&#^%@%$#!)(R$*&%# gulp @^$^**&$## gulp more &$^@^%##!!!!!! And don’t you even try to make as if your brakes failed, you @*&$&^$@))*^.
20 minutes later, arriving at the Hyundai dealership, my knees are still knocking together like Flip from Maya fame! (and seriously, somebody should contact Hyundai and say they should start sponsoring this blog. They are in Korea I think, you can call now, really)
Then comes the second shock of the day. The (very old) sales person at Hyundai (call Korea now, demit) says: “Lady, these cars are not built for roads like the Kalahari ne”. No, really? You shit me not? Why did nobody tell me this?? I thought it was an innate 4×4 (and the x button on this laptop does not work. Luckily I don’t have to write xenophobia too much. Or x ray. Or with Neanderthal man, XXX…..).
The old Hyundai dodger at least confirmed, Blue Bullet’s digestive tract ie. silencer/exhaust pipe (and now I have to use the x) has a hole in it. Which will make consumption a little less than the stellar 20km per litre it has been up to the park.
On to the next ( Whats with all the x’s?) order of business, I make the mistake of asking Mr Senior Senior citizen if he knows how to get to Khamkirri Camp? The poor old man slams down on both his arthritic knees, and nearly starts sobbing! What? Heart attack? Should I call somebody? No, he says, the road turns off from Kakamas town. It is the worst road ever! Dirt road, oh my god, it is bad, he moans, he cries, he nearly pulls his hair out, and Bullet gives a quiet sigh in the background, then pulls herself together, and points her eyes in the direction of the bad, evil road.
Now, with thoughts of “bad road” reverberating in my head, I take direction Keimoes. Then turn there for Kakamas. And what a little oasis Keimoes turns out to be! Reminds me a lot of Malawi, with the Orange river running through town at several tribunals (English, not first language remember). Every couple of minutes there’s a bridge, across another tri bunal. Tribularies. Trifactas. Grrrrrr, Man, side bits of the big river. And the bridges are all single lane, which means, you have to spot the car on the other side, about a kilometer away, and decide if he stopped first or if you did, as a miss spot can lead to a serious case of playing chicken on a bridge over the Orange River! Ah, Tributaries!
And everywhere, people meandering. With umbrellas and hats! Beautiful. And graveyards in red sand dunes, and not 20metres later, green lush vineyards. Contrast rearing its head again.
Ok, I make Kakamas, and seriously, these are some of the normal sounding town names I have come across in the last couple of days.
Oh, and I saw love bloom! Between Keimoes and Kakamas, on that 40km stretch of road, it is road works everywhere. Now road works basically means there will be a long stretch of road where only one lane is open. No visible work is being done in this 1 km stretch, but there are a lot of construction vehicles driving around, with drivers shouting conversations out the window at any pretty girl walking past. And then on both sides of the long stretch would be a stop and go. At each stop and go, is the lady with the red flag, and walkie talkie. Once all the cars from one end pass the finish line, she then hops on the walkie talkie, and asks the other side if all the cars are through. Although all of us, sitting on this side can clearly see the other end, and can see not a single car coming from that side. Then she changes the stop sign to a go sign. So, one of these stop and go ladies, obviously on a tea break, walks off and one of the construction workers, on full day break, starts chatting with her. As I drive off, I see in my rearview mirror, he puts his arm around her waist. She shrugs it off. Tony Bennet starts crooning softly from the back seat of Bullet. The worker puts his arm around her again, and this time, she leaves it there! And they walk off into the sunset! See, government, creating jobs, and environments for love.
Wait, still on my way to Augrabies. At this point I am tired, and grumpy, and heartsore, and thinking off just skipping the whole thing. I have been to Augrabies plenty of times. It is a lot of rocks, and big water. Very big water. Something like 3000 cubic something per spit of drop per second or some such (see, and some people think I was appointed for my people skills). I thus take the Augrabies turn off as I was under the impression that Khamkiri turnoff should be on this road as well. And just to mention here, and not pointing any fingers, but somebody who wrote the operations manual for this tour, wrote directions to Khamkiri: On leaving Augrabies NP, there is a road that turns right, then follow the signs. Now, this confuses me slightly, as if you are coming from direction Augrabies, the river is to the left. But maybe the person did not check which arm his watch was on when he was writing it. So I check on the other side and see Khamkirri sign turn off. Yayaya!!
This is where the mud section comes in, Bullet went bananas! I end up somewhere in a strange vineyard, on very bumpy dirt tracks (aa, the old mans nightmare, I think) and plot on. And then all signs disappear. And the road starts getting more overgrown, and bumpier. So I call Khamkirri. Oh, no, I am on the wrong side of the river! What do you mean, wrong side? How can there be a wrong side? Well, Philippa explains, I should have taken the turn off before Kakamas. But never mind, I can always park my car on this side, and they will ferry me across the river. Long discussion on that side, about what car I have (a big monster car, is my answer) and how much does it weigh (Hmmm., ferry me and Bullet is what crosses my mind)? Before I can think this through, I agree, and off we go, following the directions. Mud, and hang bridges, and large boulders! And the next thing, Bullets parks with wheel basically in the very fast flowing river! IN DEEEEEEEP mud! The motor boat comes in from across the river, and I get out, knee deep in mud, and there docks this little small boat. And no ferrying of Bullet. Only all my stuff and me, and Bullet stays on this side! Nooo, I don’t think so. NOBODY puts Bullet in a corner! How far exactly is the correct turn off? 50km, approximately. So, off we go, with a spin start. Mud is flying everywhere, and Bullet is going nowhere, but, seasoned rally driver that I am, I go into reverse, get bullet out, and mud slide skid out of there, over hang bridges, through little rivers, up mountains, but out of there. Bullet is now blue, with a faint undertone of mud!
The road the old wise man talked about? I spit on bad roads! Ga! Nothing! Some bumps, some dongas, some 4 wheel drive required. Ga, I spit I say! 23 km of this. Ga! I am Sarel Van Der Merwe!
And what a spectacular site, beautiful. Nice camp ground, very small swimming pool, really, very small. More like a bath. Spectacular lapa, overlooking the river, with lounge chairs, and a great bar area and 95 local farmers attending a dance do. But fantastic place. Warm, friendly staff, who came to meet me at my car, and got me a cold drink immediately, introduced me to literally all the staff, helped me with my tent, and generally made me feel so much better. They even gave some very sympathetic nods in Bullets direction, after I told them the hell we have both been through.
Then came the shock, they are taking me canoeing this afternoon! No, really, not necessary I say. I can see you’re busy. I have this thing with water, and a headache, and darn, I forgot my rafting clothes at home, and …. off we went in some kind of 4 wheel drive, bakkie thing, with kayaks, and one inflatable canoe thingy for me, and my own guide.
Ok, I am thinking it can’t be too bad right? Rapids! Big ones! Zambezi is nothing compared to this wall of water waiting for me. They dragged me by the hair, and dumped me in the canoe, and said, don’t worry, we can all swim! Hmmm, did you check if I can?
The First 20 minutes go nice and peaceful, and then off goes Danie and Phillipa, in their kayaks, which I suddenly realize, is what they call “Safety Kayaks”! No, why would we need this? And why do I not have a paddle thingy? And why am I wearing a helmet with a lifejacket resembling a bomb disposal unit’s flack jacket? Oh, because of rapids! Halfway through the first one, I expected to see Keanu standing on the beach, with a long board under the arm! I am very embarrassed to say, but I screech like a Banshee, and with the PITH helmet on, with Maya the bee sunglasses, and the 30kg flack jacket, I make an absolute stunning picture. Do please see the photos. One of my prouder moments, even beats the time I fell down in the main road in Pretoria, or when I lost my skirt on an escalator in a massive mall, or when my pants fell into the long drop in Zambia. No, ok, that takes a lot to beat.
And then the second rapid, which was not even a surprise, as we actually had to get out of the canoe thing and walk around some obstacles and through the Long Grasses to get to the start of it! I looked like a chameleon trying to walk on a smartie box as I am attempting the world speed record through reeds barefoot! And off we go again, and I did see Keanu! As my life flashed in front of me, he was also wading through the long grass like a chameleon!
I had a blast! And yes, I know, in the photos that Danie so kindly took (again, really, I looked so fantastic, no wonder people wanted to take shots of, or at me) it looks like a very small little bit of fluff water, not really a rapid. I tell you, it was an evil monster rapid, one just cant see it from the angle the photo was taken.
Fantastic food later, nice long chats about the overnight adventure waiting for our clients, and off to bed I went. With the sound of Tony in the background… Love is in the air… or was it Elvis? Keanu can’t sing can he? As he can’t act, so just checking.
Has somebody called Korea yet?
Lessons learnt today:
Leaving makes one sad. Like R.E.M.
Do not believe kind people with promises of a gentle meander down river, they have evil intentions.
Always question why you don’t get a paddle.
Keanu and Korea generally don’t respond fast.
The 9 Day Karoo, Kalahari and West Coast Tour is available for booking now, contact us to get your piece of the action!