Adios Amigos, Bon voyage, Goodbye, Sala Kkuhle, Totsiens, Tata, Laat Waai Meraai The ABF

At last, we had our ducks in a row, settled our accounts, repaired, maintained and reassured ourselves that we were ready to roll. All we had to do was pick up our Honey Badger, sell my car and say goodbye.

The first person on my goodbye list was my great friend Jurie. Jurie, bridge friend, confidante, book club friend, friend who loved gardening as much as I do, and who taught me how to make Brandy Snaps; I seem to recall we made six dozen for an event. She supported me when I was sad and is now living in Johannesburg. In August, she arrived in Cape Town to visit her daughter, which gave me an afternoon with her.

We laughed and cried, as one does, enjoyed copious cups of tea and scones, and caught up. Many of our older friends have passed away, but we've got wonderful memories to rehash. Goodbye, dear Jurie. I think of you every day, you wise old owl. You will be missed but never forgotten. Remember, if the Honey Badger ever gets to Jo'burg, I'm coming to sleep over at your house. These farewells are bittersweet, but I cherish every moment and look forward to new adventures and memories.

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To get everyone up to speed, the Honey Badger went with a new tyre system that lets Butch deflate/inflate the tyres quickly. For details, read my previous blog. 

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En route to Blouberg Strand, Butch thought someone waved him over at the weighbridge. Not our favourite place to be, and I want to reassure you that we're taking all necessary precautions during these travel moments. I followed him in the car. I saw many hands waving and gesturing, the traffic officer shaking his head, and then Butch alighted from the truck. With hands on his hips, head downcast, and shoulders heaving,

 I realised, “here comes trouble”, but for the life of me couldn’t imagine what it could be. Even from afar, his resignation was evident. The officer pointed to another gate, shook his head, and disappeared into an office. Back in the driver’s seat, Butch hauled himself up and beckoned despondently for me to follow him. We're managing these situations carefully and will keep you updated on any safety concerns or travel adjustments.

Our girl had gained 130kg during the winter of her discontent. We were instructed to lose weight and dispose of the excess in a manner acceptable to the weighbridge officers before we could move on. Without a war of words with the officer, we disposed of our water supply, and he was not keen to open our taps on his gravel without permission.

We reminded him it was water very similar to rainwater, and he relented. Someone nearby swiftly took our bushels of wood. It would do for his Friday night braai, and a truckload of pantry cupboard stocks from Onrus filled the back seat of my car.

Butch paid a hefty R750 fine and mislaid his wallet. Fortunately, we could retrieve it. Long story. It was beginning to feel like Friday the 13th, and the ramifications of a lost wallet were too horrific to contemplate.

While the new tyre system was being installed, we fretted about the extra weight and realised the new aluminium storage box weighed 100 kg. With thinking caps on, the team got to work. It was suggested that we replace our batteries (80 kg each x 4) with new, lighter, economical, but expensive Blue Nova Lithium Iron Phosphate batteries. 13 V/108 Ah @ C10/1404 Wh. To be installed in Worcester.

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Returning to Worcester suited me. We could repack the Badger and put all our excess goods and chattels into our storage unit. While there, Frederika popped in to say hi. I could’ve kissed her, but I was recovering from a bout of Swine Flu; seeing a familiar Worcester face was so lovely. She promised she would follow our journey. It was lovely to see you.

While they prepared, Marie and Chris kindly invited us to spend two nights with them in their lovely cottage on their farm. Just in time to witness the full flush of Marie’s Spring garden. Shaded under ancient English Oak trees, her shrubs came out in all shades of pink, salmon, red and white. While the mountain behind the packing shed went from ochre to a deep blood-orange colour, I found inner peace as only a tranquil shaded garden can give. Older people do reminisce, and we’d chat late into the night, recalling some of the fantastic adventures the four of us have enjoyed and hope to do in the future. Somewhere along the road, we’ll meet up again.

Once we’d said our goodbyes to our friends, we trundled off to drop the Honey Badger off for her new batteries. Butch sighed, shrugged, and reluctantly nodded, not making eye contact, when I told him I needed retail therapy and was going off to Woolies for our weekend supplies. Back the weight goes, he probably thought. What he takes off with his left hand is swiftly replaced with his right. 

During our time in limbo, my greatest regret was that I missed an opportunity to have tea with a group of my best Worcester girlfriends, one that I’m sure will come to haunt me. Sometimes, not often, all the planets align, and the unexpected happens. I’d just finished my grocery shopping and made my way to the shop entrance when I looked up. Lo and behold, there was Sarine, my dearest friend. She had, on a whim, decided to come to town "for nothing, in particular", she said. For an hour and a half, we visited and had tea, and I could hug her, kiss her, and say goodbye. This precious, memorable moment felt like winning the jackpot.

Finally, by midmorning, we shrugged Worcester’s dust from our feet and eagerly stepped on the gas. I silently cheered when I engaged my indicator to turn right off the N1 to Ceres. At last, our journey into the future was starting, and our little Travel Worm was growing. (The travel worm is the black squiggle on our map, mounted in the Honey Badger, marking our progress.)

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Yzerfontein Caravan Park was our destination where we would meet up with Butch’s children and grandchildren. My family had already said goodbye. I think we suffer from separation anxiety and prefer a once-off send-off!

Jan-Brand, Wiloma, Anna-Louise, Ellen, Billy, Anna, Bertus and Liam duly arrived. Some settled into their accommodations while we nattered and listened to the girls' latest stories. Billy recounted his recent walks, guides and wonderful people he’d met. Liam was shy but soon warmed up to Bush and his Micha.

Just before lunch, a bicycle with eight saddlebags arrived. A willowy, suntanned and very fit man sat on the saddle. As he pulled off his hat (he doesn’t wear a helmet), he greeted us with the best big smile ever. Billy’s friend Hendrik had skidded to a stop in a hail of gravel!

Hendrik is an adventurer in every sense. Having cycled from his hometown in Belgium, he has already reached the top of the world in Norway, then headed south to Turkey. His current journey started in Kenya a few months ago, en route to Cape Town, where he’ll eventually find a working passage on a yacht to who knows where; the trade winds will sweep him away. In Langebaan, he completed a yachting course and brushed up his knife skills during a Whale Trail hike. As Sous Chef, he can now add this to his already remarkable list of accomplishments.

We loved his easy smile and found his stories irresistible. We wish you well, Hendrik. May you never lose your enthusiasm, joy and lust for adventure travel. Your story motivates and inspires us. Don’t ever doubt yourself. Remember, we never regret what we’ve done, whether good or not so good, but we do regret what we didn’t do.

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Around our table, we enjoyed all the children, excitedly telling them of our plans and laying their fears to rest. Two attorneys grilled us; they could smell a rat a mile off. The interrogations went something like this:

“We will be ok; we’ve thought of every eventuality, and no, we’re not taking Malaria prophylactics, but we will be careful. We’ll wear white at sunset and douse ourselves in peaceful sleep.”

“Yes, we could get a mozzie net but don’t know how to attach one in the Badger. We’re fine. We’ll fix the holes in the fly screens with clear nail varnish (doesn’t work, I’ve tried).”

“Oh, we have a fan that should work; insects don’t like the wind. No, not the pissy one, another one.”

“Yes, we’ve had every vaccination imaginable. Our medicine chest has plasters, Mercurochrome, Staal Druppels, and Betadine ointment. We have prescriptions for Butch’s blood pressure tabs and eye drops.”

“Our ammunition boxes are full of food, condiments and pasta. We’ve replaced the old Engel, and the new one’s full of meat and veggies until we can stock up in Springbok.

We’ll eat tomatoes or whatever’s available when there’s no meat. We love street food and village markets, and remember, people always sell fresh veggies along the road. Butch has slaughtered and plucked a chicken, and we’ll slow-cook it. No, we won’t buy meat hanging from a tree branch. Promise. I don’t think I’ve ever had goat, but there’s always a first time.”

“We have Cook ‘n Spray, Doom, Zeb oven cleaner, pepper spray, and a zapper (if we can find the charger) for a shove. We’ll be fine. Don’t worry. We close when there’re monkeys and baboons and know the havoc they can cause. Not to worry. We know the drill.”

“Yes, we have maps, guidebooks, and a GPS. No, we don’t have a satellite phone. Too expensive, but we do have a satellite SMS SOS device. It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry. We’ll read books and swap the ones we’ve read with people we come across. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. Butch has a Kindle, and I’ll download movies on my iPad.”

“When the wine runs out, there’s always water. It’s Africa, not the moon. We’ll be fine. Not to worry.”

“We’ll buy new threads on the street. Have you not seen all those bras and socks from China yet?”

“Of course, we’ll respect every country’s dress codes. I love wearing a doek, and I covered up in India.”

“No, we will not pay bribes. We’ll sit there until everyone gets bored. We have a dash cam and a Drive Moz sticker for Mozambique, and we’re sorted.”

“We will miss you very much, but you could always meet us somewhere. Where? Zanzibar. You could stay in a resort, and we’ll park the truck somewhere and take a ferry across.”

“We’ll let you know when we get there. Promise. It would be best if you organized your affairs. We’re on our way there! We don’t know yet, but we’ll keep you in the loop. You can follow our progress on the Social Media Polar Steps blog.

Fiddlesticks, we love Social Media. See, nothing to worry about.”

“Of course, we’re very excited. We have itchy feet and can’t wait to get going. Of course, we’re sad to say goodbye, very, very sad indeed. If something unforeseen happens, we’ll decide and fly back.”

“We’ll be back when we’re ready for it. We’ll try to be there for Anna-Louise’s 21st.”

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Like a seesaw, our emotions rose and fell. The time came to say our last goodbyes. Thankfully, we have stacks of photos to look back on. There were plenty of tears, and we became emotional in our old age.

Thank you, kiddos, for spending those precious last few hours with us. We appreciate your concern, knowing that all the questions come from a place of love and care. Butch knows you love him and wish him well on this journey. The future is unknown to all of us. We must take every opportunity to live our dreams, and we know you understand that and give your blessing unequivocally.   “See you in Zanzibar!”   I had the last touch with Ellen. We waved until they’d rounded the corner and couldn’t see us anymore, despite that, we waved. Butch needed a tissue.

On Monday, Butch had an appointment with his orthopaedic surgeon, Spike Erasmus, who administered a series of injections to his “bad knee” to relieve him of the aches and pains he was experiencing. Billy went off to rendezvous with Butch and accompanied him back from Bellville, where my old car would go for its last service before being sold.

Hendrik prepared for his cycle to Blouberg. We hope you keep in touch and tell us about your exciting future adventures.

And then it was just Butch and me. At last. Silence. Quietly, we pulled up our stakes, rolled in the awning and headed up the coast to Langebaan. We were mostly silent during the drive north. No matter how often it happens, how prepared we are, or how resilient or strong we are, saying goodbye to our children and grandchildren is never easy. The stone lodged in one’s throat is a hard one to swallow.

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