Road Tripping - The Honey Badger and Dora The Explorer Go Wild - Summer Part 5

This has been quite a week since my last blog post. Firstly, I narrowly escaped/extricated myself from a locked bathroom. The incident occurred while we were staying with Crown Prince Liam, an hour before attending his end-of-year Pre-School festivities, a class picnic. And a singing recital later in the week.

What happened was that I accidentally locked myself in the bathroom, and naturally, the key was stuck when I tried to open the door. The key wouldn’t budge, and I was worried it might break if I forced it too much (regardless of what the tempestuous Italian builder thought).

My only choice was to wriggle through the tiny bathroom window. Butch came to the rescue. To make things more complicated, I had just put on my crisp white linen shirt. It was bound to get dirty during my escape. Off came the shirt; my underwear would have to suffice.

Butch’s instructions were clear. If I manage to get my head through the tiny window, the rest of me will follow (I’m not a foetus, I was tempted to say, but didn’t, this was not the appropriate time to argue).

To get my head through the small window, I had to place my left leg on the 1970s avocado-green washbasin, then my right leg on the dodgy towel rail, without dismantling either of them. I’ve read that cuts from broken porcelain can be deadly.

With my right knee on the windowsill for balance and my left leg stretched as my plimsoll gripped the edge of the basin, I managed to get my head through the window. The rest, Butch said, would be easy. Directly in front of me was a 1m Ficus in a pot and another dying shrub beyond it. I was to slip into the atrium with Butch guiding me—my fate in his hands. Next, I squeezed my arms through. Thoughts of Sue’s broken wrists flashed through my mind. I’d rather have broken wrists than a cracked noggin, I reckoned.

Long and short of it: I Houdini’ed myself out of a tight fit, so to speak. I survived. I’m here to tell the tale, and we made it to the school on time.

I also survived two rugby matches with Liam on the lawn. Some rough-and-tumble would be good for the kid, I suggested. All the adults looked at me, their thoughts, “Well, get on with it then!”

Liam was the Springbok team, and I was India.

I was tackled and scrummed, with a running commentary instructing me on the game. I was sidestepped, pummelled, and out-manoeuvred, and, sadly, lost the match 70-0. No wonder I felt my age by the time we got home, and I fear my right knee will never be the same again. But I wouldn’t change one second of the exhilarating time I had.

It’s so simple to say, “All you need to do is stretch, Mum!” That’s a Millennium for you. I believe resting is necessary. I will ignore my son’s advice.

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Road Tripping with the Fab Four

It is summer and the living is easy, but we need to move again. Butch and I agreed. The Knights were busy packing their Dora the Explorer, an Isuzu 6-tonner motorhome like ours, for their holidays. We were quite envious. I think we invited ourselves on their adventures into the Ceres Karoo and Cederberg for 10 days.

We’ve spent many memorable weekends with Sue and Percy, and knew a road trip with them would be easy and enjoyable. Although we’ve shared many experiences with many people, we have found that solo travelling suits us. This time, though, we hoped we would get the nod. We did.

Who could refuse us after all this time? A friend asked when we told her we might be staying put.

From Somerset West, we headed towards the N1 via Paarl. The first sight of “our” Du Toit’s Kloof mountains took my breath away. Once you’ve lived in their shadow or been surrounded by these majestic peaks, you can never forget them. After four years away, it was breathtaking to be back.

The first sight of the Breede Valley as one rounded the corner after the Rawsonville weighbridge showed the vineyards abundantly green, the mountains looming, and the sky blue. How many times had I not been humbled by this spectacular landscape? Miles of vineyards snaking their way along the foothills of mountains from Rawsonville to Worcester, de Wet and through the cutting and then De Doorns, where the landscape narrowed before the pass and up onto the Karoo plateau.

While we were in Onrus, we received an invitation to spend a few days on a Karoo farm. “It’s easy to find,” our hosts told us, “the turn-off is right there at the Matroosberg station, you follow the road to the Koo.” The route was mapped out in a Koki pen on a paper map, which simplified things.

The minute we were back on a gravel road, the Honey badger got her groove back. Behind us, dust billowed, and the engine growled delightfully. This was the life.

During the afternoon, we stopped at the small, unimposing Karoo Farmhouse on a large green lawn with a Blue gum tree. The flock of sheep grazing a few meters away soon came running over.

The small picture on a shelf in the kitchen had a sweet message: “My wish for you is a Karoo silence so that you can experience the earth’s embrace as she holds you close to her heart.”

The next morning, when we were ready, we strapped on our walking gear, the boys lengthened their walking sticks, and we set off to explore the farm.

By midday, when we returned, the sheep had gathered all around Dora to find a shady spot. As the sun moved across the afternoon sky, they circled the truck and eventually sought shelter under the big Eucalyptus tree.

A quiet apricot sky at sunset cooled the day down as we once again stacked our kindling and wood for a braai indoors.

Thank you, Nico and Betsie, for sharing your piece of heaven in the Karoo with us. The Karoo was embracing us. This was the perfect gift to set the rest of our road trip and holiday with the Knights off to a great start. We were back in the swing of things.

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Tankwa Karoo

I want to meet the tourists who can resist the temptation to stop at the Tankwa Padstal. It is an impossible feat. The parking area tells the whole story.

We pulled in for breakfast. This decidedly colourful, quaint farm stall has an irresistible magnetism. It draws you in to look, feel, savour, chat, and discover something no one else stocks, and you have to have it. The item could quite literally be one you can’t live without, or one you’ve been searching for “forever.”

You might stop with all the best intentions to browse, but I can guarantee you’ll stay for a drink, something to nibble on and a sweet something for the road.

Farms here are all named after a fountain (fontein) that inspired them to stay and build a life here. We passed places like Beukes Fontein, Zand Fontein, Riet Fontein, and Bizans Gat. The roads can be the death knell to tyres (as we've experienced on previous visits).

The Tankwa is a unique and arid region in South Africa, known for its stunning landscapes, rich biodiversity, and historical significance.

The area is characterised by its semidesert environment, with distinct ecosystems including pure desert, open grasslands, and mountainous regions. It lies between the Cederberg Mountains to the west and the Roggeveld Mountains to the east.

The Tankwa Karoo offers a unique blend of natural beauty, making it a remarkable destination for nature lovers and those seeking solitude in the Karoo's vast landscapes.

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My brother Percy is a biker and often ventures out with his mates and sons on biking safaris. One of their favourite spots to stay is Rietfontein, the Bike X lodge, where bikers can camp, stay in a tented campsite, or in traditional Karoo labourers’ cottages. We were permitted to camp in our vehicles near the ablutions, restaurant, and fire pit.

We were the only visitors and had the whole Karoo to ourselves with only a donkey looking on.

The next morning, after coffee and rusks, Percy, Sue and I decided to set off on our bikes. The road looked pretty flat and straight (as roads are in this neck of the woods).

Butch would walk to exercise his knee. He was not ready to hit the saddle, we all agreed.

Our ride ticked all my boxes, and we put in quite a few kilometres, taking turns to lead,  follow, or catch up. There was absolutely no need to race, and Sue and Percy were quite willing to stop now and again to satisfy my need to record my adventures.

There is nothing quite like a Karoo sunset, we took advantage of the soft, golden light and spent the time outside enjoying the tranquility. The secret of the Karoo is not having more, but in seeing more of what's already there.

We picked up sticks the next morning at a reasonable hour, Percy reminding us we were on a slow meander.

Butch and I were guests on this trip and took the opportunity to be led by Dora the Explorer.

This was another new route for me, and I found the Hartsnek Pass quite exhilarating. The dirt road, the many zigzags, the landscape, very dry and the small, hardy flowering shrubs a vibrant yellow.

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What I loved about this trip was that we could stop to view and take in the expansive landscapes which lay before us. We were now on the Katbakkies Pass (a literal translation might be The Cat’s Cheeks Pass). I loved the name.

Katbakkies rolled off our tongues—one of the many thousands of unique, beautiful Afrikaans words that have no way of being translated as succinctly.

Below us lay the De Naauwte valley. Our road lay before us like a sated, lazy, fat, grey python.

I always imagine huge glacial moraines that pushed and moved down former stream valleys, or continental ice sheets that moved across lowland areas like these and pushed sediment in front of the ice. As it moved, large piles of unsorted glacial till formed the long ridges or hills we saw surrounding us.

Ceres Road was our next turn. Way down the road, we spotted a whitewashed building with a corrugated roof and a pergola covered by a creeping grapevine. The cool green leaves shaded the picnic table so invitingly that we stopped.

Aankoms (Arrival) is a farm shop staffed by two lovely ladies who prepare delicious, traditional local treats, along with a few fancy ones.

While the boys went online and checked their messages and posted a few photos to interested friends and children who are always curious about our meanderings, Sue and I perused the shelves of goodies up for sale.

Butch and I both love a Curried “Afval” (tripe), and there’s no one else better than a Karoo cook to make the most delicious version of Curried Tripe. We would keep ours in the freezer for later or have it as brawn with a crunchy summer salad and freshly baked bread.

Ceres Rd became Tuins Kloof, then the Riet Rivier, and then we climbed the dirt road up the Varkkloof (Pig’s gorge)

Finally, we descended to the Citrusdal valley and  Vogelfontein, where we would stay at Nieuwe Rust campsite.

Although the campsite was lovely and the facilities good, we didn’t find the management terribly welcoming or friendly, leaving us with a sour taste in our mouths.

But Sue and I decided we were not going to be put off by all this and would, as we’d agreed, hike up the kloof the next morning while the boys went for a short walk to cool their heels.

It was the last day of the month, and we were going to end things off with a bang and not be dissuaded, nor were we going to be glum. We had a lot of catching up to do, and believe it or not, girls are able to hike, talk, enjoy the views and have a good laugh in between it all. 

Unfortunately, the promises of a swim and shower under the falls came to nought; the falls had dried up! 

We did manage to add a pile of stones to a cairn for our children and grandchildren, and then enjoyed our drinks and a bag of Wine Gums—such an indulgence before setting off once again hiking the dry riverbed.

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Percy and Sue had been on a bike trip with their gang a year before and had spent a lovely night at the Cederberg Oasis. At their suggestion, we decided to move. We were eager to spend a few nights, and that, said Sue, would tick all our boxes.

Butch and I agreed and followed suit. Our campsite was perfect. Set near the swimming pool, restaurant and ablutions, we soon settled to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

The next morning, Percy, Sue, and I set off early to conquer the Rooiberg Peak. We could see the mountain behind us, and the previous evening we enjoyed the moon rising over the ridge.

Sue insisted that Percy take his walking stick once she’d seen the elevation that we would be trekking.

Up we went, carefully placing each foot on the gravelly path, which looked more like a dried-up stream from the previous winter’s rainfall than a footpath.

The going was steady, we felt energised and enjoyed the clamber, all feeling fit and strong, even when we did some boulder hopping and rock scaling. At one point, Sue and I agreed that we didn’t think Percy was going to find the path down that easy on his knees, but left the decision for later.

At the gate at the top of the Rooiberg, we decided to carry on along the plateau and descend the mountain somewhere along the way.

The long and short of it, we took the long road home, which was an easy walk until we descended the mountain and found that the river had flooded a year or two earlier. All the hiking markers had been washed away, the path destroyed, and the alien vegetation had taken over, thriving and bamboozling us completely.

Two hours later, after some bundu bashing, we were on familiar territory again, cooling down in a stream before setting off home to Butch, who had stayed in. According to the timestamps on my photographs, our hike took a whopping 5.5 hours to complete. 

Percy was a champ, and this was a good preparation for Sue, who was planning her Portuguese Camino.

Unfortunately, the hike ended very unpleasantly. Butch was furious that I had not kept to the plan; he had panicked and sent the lodge’s owner and staff on a wild-goose chase, looking for us, and had scaled the mountain on an off-road motorbike. He hadn't spotted us, he reported to a very anxious Butch.

Fears of Puff adders getting us, dehydration and exhaustion understandably exacerbated the situation.  

By the time Butch and the owner found us, they were not at all in a good mood, nor terribly happy to see us. (Very much like the mother who, in her panic for her child, gives him a well-deserved wallop for causing her anxiety.) I was not popular, and everyone glared at me furiously. 

Percy and Sue saved the day. They are both peace makers and were able to calm the waters of despair. Their happy faces did lighten the atmosphere in the camp and the Honey Badger. In the heat of the moment, one tends to forget that anger is the symptom of fear

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The next morning, Butch and I went for a gentle walk to exercise his new knee, but we agreed we needed a chillaxed day at the pool with books, drinks, and not much else. We all agreed.

Our efforts in keeping well away from the mountains were short-lived, and the following morning, bright and early, Sue and I decided to tackle the mountain again, and this time, Sue promised she’d show me a new way home. Shorter, quicker and easier.

The boys were quiet, and to this day, I do not know what they got up to; suffice it to say that at one point, Butch went for a swim and forgot the rules for the new knee. Up to heaven with the old knee and down to hell with the new knee.

We found him bitterly disappointed and in agony. He’d done something untoward, twisted his new knee and was sure the damage was going to set his recovery back. He never complains, but, on occasion, when asked, does admit his knee is not as comfortable as the previous knee replacement. C’est la vie.

Sue and I took the Rooiberg Route. It was still early in the morning, the temperature was delightfully cool, and we had loads of energy. We were enjoying our solo hike and chatted like magpies all the way up the mountain and along the easy plateau.

Then we made our descent first by following a path that petered out, then by following cairns. We’d have to concentrate not to miss a cairn which was packed on rocks, boulders and rocky shelves haphazardly and not in a uniform pattern as we made our way down the mountain.

As expected, the cairns became fewer until there were none left to follow. We were on our own. Fortunately, we could see the road below us and kept that as a guiding marker.

Galloping over gravelly bits, or shuffling our feet close to a huge rock face, we made our way slowly, and at times, on our bottoms, we slithered and slid down steep declines.

Four hours later, we stepped onto a solid gravel road and stepped up our pace. We were home, safe and sound. We beamed triumphantly, filled our water bottles in a stream and headed home, the last 500m in our sights.

This time, the bright yellow smiley face beamed at us, and we could reciprocate. We would do a selfie later after checking in, we decided.

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Most afternoons were spent quietly doing our own thing. Some would stretch out on a towel, soaking up the sun; I would lie, pondering the future, in my hammock; and yet others read, zizzed, and did pretty much anything they desired.

On a few occasions, we’d join other guests in the restaurant for dinner, which was a treat, and on different nights we’d take turns preparing and making supper. It was always a thrill to know we didn’t have to do all the cooking and had a night off in between.

That night, the Camp Commandant (Butch’s nickname for Sue) announced that we’d be off in the morning. We had a few more stops on this escapade, and we were becoming too relaxed in our slacks.

Back on the dirt road, we were ready to discover the Groot Kloof mountain passes as we pickled our way to Citrusdal.

We were not there yet, Sue told us, we were to stop in Clan William for brunch. We had no problem with that excellent suggestion.

At the Veldskoendraai restaurant and farm stall, we stopped for a double-thick coffee milkshake. That was for starters.  

The joy of road tripping is always the expectations we have of the route, landscapes, roads, unexpected sightings and the excitement of new destinations. I suppose one could say "the fix" delivered the rush.

We were going to celebrate this marvellous day with wheels of ice-cold red watermelon that evening. I promised the posse hauling up my only purchase from the wide selection of fresh vegetables and fruit on display. This would be our first watermelon of the season.

We were in a frivolous mood when we stopped at the campsite at Kromme Valley and Bulshoek Dam, which is called Bulshoek Farm, adjoining the Clanwilliam Dam. Butch, we agreed, looks a lot better with his colourful patchwork Thai hat on and not with a head full of hair.

We walked, talked, and enjoyed other guests’ shenanigans on the lake, where they pursued their water sports on boats, tubes, and skis. We were pretty happy to lol around all day doing as little as possible while enjoying the tranquillity of the water after our daily walks.

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Butch’s knees were doing well, and every day his gait became stronger, his footsteps got wider and further apart—a good sign.

Large purple bunches of grapes were starting to weigh the vines down as the berries swelled and ripened. Soon it will be harvest time in this area.

Yes, I thought as I walked next to my beloved, we must stay close to the people who feel like sunshine, and right now I was in the company of the sunniest sunshine.

On our way to our next destination, we found a freshwater spring along the Klaver road, just off the N3. The farmer, and owner of the land, had marked the spot and offered fresh spring water to travellers like us to fill our tanks and bottles before setting off on our journeys. What a thoughtful gesture.

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In Citrusdal, we stopped and camped on a farm for a few nights before setting off to see the sea for a well-deserved Vitamin Sea injection. I love the Karoo and the Cederberg, but the sea was calling me.

It seemed it would take a while before my wish came true—no use rushing, Maricha, I was a guest on this journey.

In any case, “which is more important,” asked Big Panda, “the journey or the destination?”  “The company.” Said Tiny Dragon.

When we saw Dora’s indicators flick on, indicating we would be turning in at the Lemoenkloof farmstall on the Piekenierskloof pass, we immediately slowed down and flipped the indicator stick down.

Very few motorists can resist this iconic farm stall. It is situated right in the perfect spot for breakfast, lunch or a sleepover in the caravan park, depending on your destination and ETA.

Sue and I were having tea and scones while the boys tucked into a hearty brunch of sausage, pap (polenta) and tomato sauce (smoor), a very traditional African dish. I had a suspicion Butch was missing his street food.

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Our last stop before heading to the west coast would be Jan se Kraal, a resort on a citrus farm in the Citrusdal area.

The farm is approached a short kilometre from Lemoenkloof farmstall, on the right-hand side. On a few occasions, especially when we were going up the coast to see the Spring Flowers, we have been inquisitive about this area.

Percy promised we could spend a  few nights there. The days were long and hot, and the facilities perfect for a hike, a swim and a jolly good time.

Percy, Sue and I went for a hike up the mountain the next day. The paths are clearly marked and well-maintained, making the hike easy.

From high up, we had a good view of the Honey Badger, but didn’t spot Butch at all. We would’ve liked to wave and see if he could spot us, but it was not to be.

On one shoulder, we had the ragged rocks of the mountain as we made our way up, and on the other, we were surrounded by green citrus orchards.

The harvest had recently been picked, and the trees were enjoying a dormant period before they started blooming in the new year, ready to begin producing oranges and naartjies for winter again.

Percy and Sue were excellent camping partners and very organised. Whenever it was their turn to prepare dinner, Butch and I knew we were in for a surprise.

Their motto is “teamwork is dreamwork”, and we witnessed and enjoyed the success of their scrumptious efforts.

 

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At Bulshoek farm campsite, a working farm and piggery, we were able to purchase yummy pork products produced on the farm. A list of products, such as pork sausage, pork belly, ribs, bacon, and deboned pork neck, is available for guests to purchase. We stocked up on a basket of delicious products.

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The first leg of our journey was coming to an end, but we had a week or more to enjoy the West Coast ahead of us.

According to Tilda Swinton’s Notes for Radical Living, we should

Next time, I promise, we’ll go to the ocean for the salty air, white sand, blue water, sea birds, sunshine and easy living.

The year is drawing to a close, things are heating up, and days are becoming hectic, and I am determined to end the year on track and up to date. Thanks for reading.